


Why We Hide Part II

by three_piece_suit



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Part II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_piece_suit/pseuds/three_piece_suit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wondering what Charlotte said?! It's about time. One year later I give you Part II. Our story moves to the present during the last couple episodes of season 16. Of course, you'll be surprised to see what was really happening off camera. After meeting up with Charlotte after 20 years, there is a chance to start over but Barba isn't sure he wants to take that chance. He has a lot to lose and there are some barriers standing in his way. You'll find angst, tears, some romance, and some pretty worth-while sex scenes. So, spoiler alert, maybe Rafael does take a chance after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 8

…nothing.

They stood. Paralyzed. Together, seemingly waiting for something that would never come. Barba’s eyes squeezed shut momentarily, inventing a time machine in his head, taking him back. What he wouldn't give to go back. How many times he'd been here in his head, this moment, in front of her again. He'd rehearsed what would happen when they would pick up where they left off and had held on to the dream so long that it was all he had left. But that wasn't where they were now. They had left off twenty years ago, not two. 

When he opened his eyes he was seated on the bench she had been on when he'd arrived. His briefcase was next to him in the grass, his eyes were moist. She was holding his hand, smiling, but crying. 

Suddenly she let out a small laugh and readjusted his pocket square. “Nice suit. I like your taste.” The feeling of her hand touching his armor broke him instantly. His breath caught in his throat and she saw him change. Her mouth parted again to inquire to his abrupt pained expression but he caught her. He put his arms around her and drew her into him, pressing his cheek against hers, the smell of vanilla sandalwood soaring through his nostrils. He felt her jolt unexpectedly for a moment but then her breathing and muscles settled and melted into him as she buried her face in his neck and pulled him closer to her. He had so many questions. There was so much pain. He wanted to scream at her, interrogate her, kiss her, marry her, his head spun. He tried to stop, just be here, but that's not now his mind worked. 

He broke from her, pulling back. He sat up, gaining some composure. “Are-?” 

“Do you have plans this weekend?” she asked, wiping an escaped tear from her eye. 

Caught up in more emotions than he knew he had, his mind switched back to logic mode. “Of course I have plans, I'm an ADA. I'm in the middle of-” 

She laughed at him, resisting placing her hand on his knee. _Those_ _are tailored, well done,_ she thought to herself. “Oh, I know about your case. And I know you're an ADA. McCoy keeps me well informed.” 

His mouth fell open. “But how-?” 

“You don't get to be a federal prosecutor and not know your DA’s, Mr. Barba.” Her eyes flashed. She interrupted again before he could speak. “You should cancel your weekend plans. Come to the house. It's been a while.” 

 _The house,_ he said to himself. He knew she meant in Bridgehampton. But the phrase “it's been a while” stuck with him. And it festered. It had touched an uncomfortable spot. Not only had it been a while, it had been twenty years. Of nothing. Not a thing. 

“I appreciate the offer,” he said conservatively, “but I'm afraid this case is keeping me quite occupied.” 

She smirked at his uncomfortableness. “There's an office on the first floor.” 

“I can't. My life is here. We're not the same people we used to be. You can't call me out of work this time.” He didn't mean to be harsh but the anger he'd had for so many years was boiling at her nonchalance. 

Her smile faded into understanding. “I know you're angry. 

“You're damn right I'm angry.” His breathing shook. 

“You have every right to be.” 

His fists curled. He didn't care if they were in public. “You left with a fucking note, Charlotte.” His hand moved to run through his hair but he'd learned to refrain. Instead he gripped the back of the bench hard and looked away at a couple playing with a French bulldog. 

“I know, you're right I did. I didn't have a choice.” 

“I don't want to hear your excuses. I'm sure you didn't.” Looking at her though he suddenly remembered the last time they'd been together. He never found out what actually happened that night. And by the way her face fell when he said this, she hadn't forgotten it either. He gave in and ran his hand through his hair. She smiled. The smile he'd do anything for. He rolled his eyes back at her.  

“It'll just be us. You can ask all the questions you need to and I'll answer them all. You can yell at me and scream at me and call me all the names you want. And then you can leave. If you want.” She was serious.  

“Why now?” The question came automatically.  

She sighed. “The case you're working on, the case on Johnny D.” Now she had his attention. “I'm the AUSA taking down the DC operation.” 

Barba didn't accept anyone challenging him in his element. “No you're not.” 

She raised a matching eyebrow. 

He continued, “No, I've been in contact with the DC Feds and I would have seen your name on the case.” 

“You did.” 

“I didn't, I would have known, I always check.” 

There was a pause as he realized what he said and shifted uncomfortably. 

Her voice softened. “I check too. But you missed something, counselor. You were checking for the wrong name.” She lifted up her left hand to reveal an engagement and wedding band snuggled onto her ring finger.  

Barba’s breath stopped. His heart fell next to his briefcase on the ground. _No,_ he thought. 

“This is too much, Charlotte, this was a mistake.” He readjusted his tie and picked up his case and stood. “I'm sorry I agreed to this.” 

Charlotte's heart crashed with his. “Rafael, please.” 

His face hardened, his demeanor switched. He filled his suit, his power returned to his stance as the lines around his eyes disappeared and his green eyes danced between them. She felt him draw his power from his brilliance and experience, everything he had accomplished and everything he was able to forget he'd lost. But she saw him hide more instead. She knew him too well. It was a cover; it was the cover she’d taught him. “I'm due in court. It was good to see you again.” 

“Rafael,” she looked beautiful as ever, put together, her spring dress with a blazer over it gave her the appearance of power with a feminine touch, “you have my number now. You know where I'll be. Give me a chance to make it up to you. Please.” 

He took a deep breath, the pain on her face slowly killing him. Words escaped him, a rare occurrence. “I'm due in court,” he said again and hesitated before turning from her, not wanting to say goodbye. Not again. 


	2. Chapter 9

The funny thing was he wasn't due in court that afternoon. It was Friday. He knew she'd picked Friday. Damn her. James was covering the rest of the case which gave him more time to concentrate on the case with Johnny D. He knew he should check in with Olivia. He'd promised he'd let her know when the motions came in signed and there they were, sitting on his desk, but he didn't even pick up his phone. 

His jacket rested on the back of his chair, his loosened tie hung from his neck. Suddenly dawning on him, he pulled his hands away from his face that was resting in them and looked at the cuffs of his white French dress shirt. The RB inscription on his cuff links was still as beautiful as the day she gave them to him. He had other pairs that were special but he still wore these. Maybe just because they matched his suit today or for another reason he'd put them on this morning. He was actually glad she hadn't seen them. 

His phone was ringing. Oh, actually for the second time. He'd completely blanked through the first call. Olivia.  

“Barba,” he answered flatly, sitting back in his chair, reluctantly running his hand through his hair again.  

“I'm on my way, sorry. Want anything?” 

His mind drew a blank. “I'm sorry what?” 

“Barba, Johnny D., the case. We're meeting today. Do you want any coffee before I get there?” 

 _Shit,_ he swore at himself. Everything else had left his mind today. “No, I don't need anything,” he sputtered and hung up. He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands again for just a moment. At least it felt like only a moment before Olivia entered without knocking, a concerned expression  

“James is handling the Tornetta case?” 

He shot up at her abruptness. “Um, yes I had other things to take care of.” 

She stood in front of him, worry etched in her face. He knew she was already a wreck about the prospect of losing Noah and she didn't need his personal problems on her mind. His defenses shot up as they had already been compromised earlier that day. She took a seat in front of his desk.  

“Barba this isn't like you.” 

“Yeah, well,” he got up rounding his desk, “I had an unusual day.” 

“Something go wrong in court?” 

“No, no, that I can control.” He folded his arms, walking to the window that faced Hogan Place. 

Olivia turned in her chair. “Maybe we should do this at another time.” 

“No, we can do it now. I just need,” he spun to look at the round table in his office, “the files.” The table was blank. Olivia stood.  

“Rafael, let's do this another time.” 

He simply nodded at her and frowned. “I'll have this together by Monday. We have time before the trial.” 

“I know we do,” Olivia said standing close to him. “Look, I'll let you alone. Just,” she put her hand on his shoulder, “take care of yourself okay? You have my number.” 

 _You have my number,_ he repeated in his head. He swallowed hard, setting his jaw and nodding. Her expression was still concerned but she knew to let him go. Pressing him wasn't going to get her anywhere. She patted his shoulder against his folded arms and grabbed her coat before leaving and closing the door.  

He stood staring at his phone on his desk. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as her text from this morning still haunted him. He had so many questions. He also had so many reasons to thank her. So much he wanted to say. Bouncing forward he sat back down at his desk chair, picking up his Blackberry. Missed emails. He checked for her. Nothing. Why did he check? Placing his phone back down he leaned back, glancing at his watch which read that he could go home. He didn't move. He knew he shouldn't move. He should stay right here where he was safe from her. Like a boat staying safe close to shore. But then again, that's not what boats are for.  

* * *

It was late Saturday afternoon when the driver waiting for him at the Montauk train station took his bags from him, leading him to the car waiting. He had been to the Hamptons a couple times since he'd been here with her but never back to Bridgehampton. He swore he could smell the sweetness of the grass on the polo field. The country club. The bathroom upstairs.  

In the blink of a memory, he was outside the familiar house and there she was, in the white wicker chair on the porch with her feet up, waiting. Her white sandals were beside the ottoman her feet rested on. She had a loose white button up tucked into a pair of navy blue Bermuda shorts. He alighted from the car, a snarky expression already on his face. She didn’t even get up. She just watched him amble up the front walkway towards her as the driver carried his bags inside. She could tell he wasn't planning on vacationing anytime soon since he was wearing dress pants and a white dress shirt with a black blazer. She rolled her eyes at him.  

Cocking her head in the opposite direction as the driver walked by she observed, “Looks like you’re staying for a while.” 

He settled down in the chair adjacent to her. “Give me a good reason to,” he shot back. 

She smiled at him. “Oh good, you brought the sass.” 

“Is your husband going to show up unannounced?” He thought about small talk first but it wasn’t really his style. Or hers. Unless her style had changed. And if it had, he didn’t really want to be there anyway. 

“Excellent question. No, he is not going to show up. He is not going to show up ever again. We’re not together anymore.” 

Rafael almost choked. “Wait, what?” 

“Separated. For two years now.” She raised her wedding rings again. “Better for PR if we keep up appearances.” 

There was silence. That was not the answer he was expecting. Actually it made things harder. And yet there was an incredible weight lifted off his shoulders that he couldn’t place. 

“What about you? Little Barbas running around anywhere?” 

Again he choked, “No, none of those.” 

“Married?” 

“No, no time.”

“Dating?” 

“Less time for that.” 

“You married your job.” 

“Didn’t you?” he shot.  

“We both did.” She looked at him, through him. Suddenly a smile spread across her face.  

“What?”  

“I like the silver fox look.”

He tilted his head down, shooting her a look with his eyes upturned as a warning. 

“What?!” She laughed, “I said I like it.” 

“You. Kids? Family?” 

“Family yes, kids no. I thought I could do everything. I was supposed to do everything. Get the job, then the husband, then give up the job to have kids. But I couldn’t give it up. Not the job. So I married the job instead.” 

His head found the back of the chair. “I can’t believe I’m here.” 

“I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“This was a mistake.” 

“Probably. But you’re here anyway. We should have dinner.” 

“Not yet,” he ordered. 

She was amused. “ _Not yet?_ ” 

He closed his eyes. “We have dinner plans.” 

“We…we what?” 

“We have dinner plans. Reservations are at five.” 

She was stunned. “Reservations where?” 

“None of your business. Dress nice.” 

“I always dress nice.” 

“Hmm,” he said critically, “except your blazer yesterday was off the rack and your heels had a couple scuff marks on the inside. Be careful with nude colors.” 

She shoved her foot in his lap. “Now you can rub my feel from standing in scuffed heels you asshole.” He smiled, taking her foot in his hands. Adrenaline shot through her and his hands shook for a moment. His skin touching her skin, even in the context, was nevertheless thrilling. They both ignored its power. 

“Five, huh,” she questioned. 

“Mmhm,” he nodded back.  

“Nice? Just nice?” 

“You know how to get dressed.” 

“I'm going to take a shower first,” she stated, pulling her foot from his hands and picking up her sandals. She glanced behind her as she headed inside, “And keep yourself on the first floor, counselor.” 

He opened his mouth to remark, but smirked at her instead. She disappeared into the house and he put his feet up where hers had been. He still wasn't sure why he was here. He couldn't pinpoint the moment when he decided it was a good idea. Actually he still didn't really believe it was a good idea. His phone had been vibrating from his pocket the whole time but he had ignored it until now. Finally he checked. Apparently the world had collapsed without him. 

He dialed her number back. “Liv, what is it?” 

“Barba where are you?” 

“What's wrong?” He stood up and went into the house. He could faintly hear the water running from upstairs. 

"Johnny wants custody.” 

“Of course he does, Olivia, he'll do whatever he can do get one over on you.” 

“We can't let this happen.” 

He paced around the great room, ignoring the memory of the last time he was here, of her getting up that morning and telling him they had plans, none of which he could have guessed would have included his first suit fitting. While adjusting the phone he smiled faintly to himself as he shrugged off his favorite black blazer, which he'd had made for him by the same company that had fitted him here in Bridgehampton. “Well, Liv, I have to be honest with you if you hadn't listed his name-” 

“Yes, Rafael, I'm aware,” she was angry but he needed to say it. “What do we do now?” 

“We go to court.” 

There was a sigh followed by a pause on the other end. “And you'll be there?” 

He made his way slowly up the stairs. “Of course I'll be there, Olivia.” 

“It's…it's like facing Lewis again but for Noah's sake.” He could hear her breaking down. “You were there for me then.” 

“I'm not going anywhere. We'll be ready.” 

He felt her nod into the phone and compose herself. “Okay, yes. Well, will you be around tomorrow?” 

“Um,” he surveyed the guest room and heard the shower turn off. “Not this weekend. But I'll see you on Monday.” 

She paused for a moment and he knew she wanted to ask why. But she also knew she wouldn't get very far with personal questions about him. “Okay, yeah, that's fine I'll see you then.” 

“Call me with any updates.” Hanging up, he felt bad for a moment, considering returning home. He glanced around the familiar guest room and headed for his own shower before he could change his mind.  

* * *

The mirror reflected class. The last time he'd dressed in front of this mirror he didn't know how to use cuff links. He swiveled the _RB_ correctly onto his cuffs and snapped his Omega closed. He turned sideways in the mirror, placing a loose hair lock back and pulling his suit jacket sleeves to meet his cuffs. His vest felt a tad more snug than he'd remembered even though it did not have lapels. He'd gone simple for the night: black three piece, white French dress shirt, black lace-ups, tie was a red, white, and black diagonal stripe pattern and a crisp, white, Presidential-folded pocket square.  

Buttoning the top button of his jacket he heard the muffled steps of heels on carpet and turned to see Charlotte in the doorway, clasping a diamond earring on her ear. 

Her hair was in large curl in front of her shoulder: light makeup, a subtle lipstick, a simple black dress, sleeveless with a square neckline, tennis bracelet, matching diamond necklace, and black Louboutins. 

“Can you get this?” she turned around and he stepped forward to pull up the small zipper up her back. The dress was snug enough not to warrant a bra and his mind began to sink. He shook it off and fastened the small button above the zipper. 

“You look stunning.” He felt her smile as she turned around, put her arms out and then let them fall back down. 

“Well thank you,” she said embarrassed. She then took a moment to admire him. She slowly walked around him as he stood with hands in his pockets.  

“Mr. Barba I am impressed.” 

“You expected less?” 

She smirked, “Of course not,” and winked before wandering out of the room. He took a deep breath, imagining but not wanting to know if her husband had ever seen her in this dress, touched her in it, pulled the zipper up her back, smelled the possessive force of her perfume. 

He followed behind her as her hand guided along the banister down the staircase, gentle clicks padded on the marble entrance. She picked up her keys but he took them from her hand. She opened her mouth but let him tuck them in his pocket as he held the door for her. 

The Maserati hummed to life and was valet parked quickly outside of Pierre’s. Charlotte was greeted and waved to by friends she knew as they passed on their way to their table near the window. It was still light outside but there was a hint of the sunset to come.  

They read the menu and ordered in silence. Rafael requested a 1994 Opus One despite Charlotte's protests, and the manager brought it over, letting him sip it before deciding on it for the table.  

He sat back, his hand resting on the bottom of his wine glass, savoring the rare taste. Charlotte sat forward, studying him. 

“You’re nervous,” she said gently.  

“I'm fine,” he said with a small smile of reassurance. 

“You were shaking as you pulled up the zipper on my dress.” 

He noticed the smugness of her expression. He leaned forward. “I haven’t touched you in twenty years. I still don’t know what I’m going here. So yes, I was nervous doing the job that I know your husband used to do.” 

“You’re still stuck on that aren’t you?” 

His eyes widened and he raised his voice. “How could I not be? You think that was just a small detail for me to look over?” 

“I know you well enough that there is no detail small enough and you wouldn’t dare look a single one over. What are you worried about?” 

“I’m just sitting here across from you, having pictured this a million times and a million things I would say and now I have nothing.” 

“Let’s start with what we know,” she raised an eyebrow. 

“You mean that you look absolutely incredible?” 

He caught the small blush sweep over her face and he reveled in it. She covered it by bringing her wine glass to her face. “Not that. Where are you with the Johnny D case?” 

“You want to talk about work right now?” 

“What would you rather talk about, Harvard?” 

He couldn’t help smiling with her. He took another sip. “Where did you end up finishing up?” 

“Yale.” 

“Oh that’s upsetting.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“D.C., huh?” 

She nodded. 

“What does your husband do?” 

She tilted her head in warning. “That’s not important.” 

“Of course it’s important.” 

She leaned closer. “Not tonight, it’s not.” 

“Then what is important?” 

“You’re angry.” 

“Of course I’m angry.” 

 She nodded again. “Then why are you here?” 

His angry expression remained but he exhaled deeply. “I don’t know yet. Maybe I just needed the vacation.” 

“I’ve missed you.” 

Suddenly his expression softened to a more painful one. His eyes glowed green. “I missed you every day since…” he paused, gathering himself. “You couldn’t call me?” 

She shook her head. “I couldn’t. It was part of the deal. It still is technically but I’m willing to take the risk.” 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like? Not only did you just leave but the last time I saw you was the worst day of your life and I couldn’t help you because you wouldn’t let me and then you just leave. You left me with nothing.” 

“I did, you’re right. Apologies won’t help, I know. But for what it’s worth I’m so sorry, Rafael.” 

His lips tightened as their meals arrived. The mood lightened briefly. Their wine mixed with their meals and settled in nicely. It dropped their inhibitions slightly which they needed.  

“Do you remember the first time you came out to the bar with us?” 

Rafael’s head cocked and he frowned, wiping his lips with the napkin from his lap. “I'm sorry?” 

Charlotte smiled. “Remember? After mock? We all went out?” 

He chuckled at the sudden memory, dredging it up from the depths. Taking a sip of Cabernet, he felt mixed emotions about it. “As a matter of fact I do. Oh right!” He put his glass down hard and pointed at her accusingly. “That was the time you told everyone that _I_ was going to pay for their drinks and then you sneakily paid _for_ me because you thought it would be _cool_ if everyone didn’t think I was dirt poor.” 

“Oh come on! You make it sound like I did a horrible thing! Your shoes had holes in the soles, Rafael, I was trying to help and make them think it was some kind of hipster style you were trying to bring in.” 

“Hmm, yeah sounds like me.” He put his fork down as they laughed and caught a moment where the candle on their table bounced light off her glass which flashed across her face, igniting her eyes and smiling cheeks.  

“God you looked beautiful.” 

She choked. “Ex…excuse me?” 

He didn’t move, praying for the candle to dance that way again. He dropped his utensils and sat back with his glass of wine, not blinking. “The yellow dress you wore during your father’s polo match.” The rose in her cheeks turned to crimson. His head shook slightly from side to side. “You would sit on the defense’s table in your fucking skirt and I’d forget what the word ‘objection’ meant. And you knew it.” Her face was glowing scarlet. 

“Rafael,” 

“I almost lost cases thinking about you sitting on the desk in front of me again. Except we’d be alone instead. And I’d be the one making you forget how to speak.” 

Her fork hit the floor. “Shit,” she swore, bending down to pick it up. He didn’t move. The waiter was quick to bring her another in a moment’s time. 

“While I’m here,” the waiter asked, “would either of you care for dessert?” 

The blood drained from Charlotte’s face as she watched Rafael slowly raise an eyebrow and the side of his smile. 

* * *

The walk from the car to the front door was silent. But Rafael could feel his heart racing. He could swear he could feel hers as he walked behind her. She turned the handle and pushed inward. The silence was deafening. The keys dropped on the side table. 

His hands were on her waist and she was against the wall, his lips pressed against hers. She lifted her head up for air. His mouth found her neck. 

“Rafael,” she breathed, putting her hands on his chest, feeling the fabric he hid under. 

“Please,” his voice buried into her skin. She melted against him, his hands reached around her, breaking the top button of her dress and drawing the zipper down her back again. 

“Raf,” but he broke her words with his tongue, moaning into her mouth. She felt herself surrender to him, giving in, suddenly wanting nothing more than him. She’d known all along they would end up here. Again. 

She pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders, working quickly on the buttons on his vest. He tapped her shoes with his own and she kicked them off into the middle of the marble floor. He turned them together and guided her around the corner to the adjacent dining room. His vest slipped to the floor. His hands pulled away at his tie. Her lips bit at his. 

He peeled the dress from her shoulders and let it slide to the floor as she walked backwards. She slipped the suspenders from his shoulders and let them fall to his sides. Stepping out of her dress his hands reached around and lifted her up, placing her on the dining room table. The absurdity of where they were crossed her mind but her fingers knew to work on the buttons on his shirt. He pushed her legs apart, placing himself in between them, wrapping his hands around her back. 

There was an incredible moment of seeing someone perfect, put together, covered in impeccable threads, wrapped in class, defensive against the world. And then removing the layers of him, watching his body breathe for her, writhe in front of her in beautiful exposure. The hiding game lay on the ground, stepped over in exchange for a hunger to be alive with another person. 

Jackets became obstacles. 

Vests became only silk. 

Cologne replaced with sweat. 

Sweeping his hands around her smooth skin, his thumbs finding her nipples. She gasped from his mouth and shivered under his touch. Pushing his shirt away and losing his undershirt she buried her head in his chest, kissing every inch of his burning skin. She could feel the hammering of his heart under her lips. He let out her name under his breath. 

Slacks became unnecessary objects. 

Shoes became abandoned leather. 

Her fingers wound into his hair, pulling his expert tongue down her throat. Left in only a single article of clothing each, his body pressed into hers, her legs wrapped around him, begging him closer. He teased her with his fingers, his body having the most incredible reaction feeling her respond to him. Her hands found the band of his last article of clothing and pushed it down his legs. 

Instinctively she grabbed his hardness and stroked upward, hearing his beautiful voice grow dark against her skin, the vibrations of his groan escaped in a bite to her neck. 

"Do you remember," he hummed onto her skin, "the pool house," she swallowed hard, her mouth dry, "lifetimes ago?" She could only make a breathless nod. He suddenly pulled back from her and dug his green eyes into hers, "Tonight is nothing like that." His hand tore her lace from her and checked to make sure she was wet enough for him. "Good," he said sickeningly, "you'll need it." He brought her body close to him and pressed the tip of his cock against her, pausing. 

"Rafael please," 

"Take a deep breath." 

"What?" 

"Do it," he ordered. 

She complied and he pushed into her slightly, the tightness making him groan in pleasure. 

"Fuckkkkkk!" she gasped, air escaping her at the unexpected size and pressure. She dug her nails into his back, bracing. He couldn't help but laugh. He pushed farther, slowly, letting her close around him. She made a fist with her hand, biting her bottom lip. “Fuuuuuuuck,” she howled as he stretched her. 

Her body shook around him as he buried himself inside her, her name on his lips. The foreign pressure of her around his length was intense and he pulled out, again hearing her gasp. 

“No, no, please,” she begged him, wrapping her legs around his body, pulling him closer. 

Rafael hesitated, grinning, drinking in her pleas before thrusting himself back into her, causing her body to writhe, the pressure of them intertwined growing. 

He alternated movements, faster, slower, harder, softer, searching for the reaction he wanted. Sweat formed on his forehead and the small of his back glistened from effort. Suddenly he had Charlotte’s hands digging into his arms, and her mouth swearing at him. He laughed between his heavy breaths, his head dropping to her shoulder. 

“There you are,” he teased, moving again, satisfaction coming from her yelling fuck in his ear. 

“Please, please, Rafael, I need-” 

“I know,” he kissed her, biting at her, breathing into her, a bead of sweat meeting her face. He could feel her body rising. He knew she was close. But he was closer. 

“Come on baby,” he implored, quickly moving his hand to touch her, swirling his fingers to bring her closer. He bowed his head as he worked, biting his lip in effort, begging her. Fingers up? No change. Down? And her body doubled. “Yes, yes,” he whispered, pushing harder until she came to him, her hands grasping at his wet hair as her body convulsed around him. Hearing her excruciating pleasure quickly set him off. 

“Ohhhhhh God,” he surrendered, driving deeper into her, biting her shoulder as her named poured from his lips when he earned his release. 

He kept himself completely buried in her, letting his hands rest on the table on either side of her body. She pressed her lips to his, kissing him although he couldn't close his mouth to her for needing air. 

"Rafael,” she gasped to him. He let his forehead rest against her shoulder for a moment while he caught his breath. She let her hands glide along his back where the sweat of his exertion was sprinkled. 

"I'm so sorry,” she said deeply. 

“Why?”

“It was always you. Twenty years ago it was you and it always has been you.” He felt her hold back tears as he kissed her, savoring the taste and feel of her lips in between his. 

But he broke from her abruptly, gently pulling himself from her. 

“I'm going to take a shower,” he said dryly and headed out of the room without waiting for a reply. She watched him rub his forehead and eyes before he disappeared. She would have the room, and now-messy table, cleaned before he came back down. Eying the clothes strewn in a line to where they were, she curiously picked the pieces of his up one by one. They were beautifully made and tailored, she could see the changes and adjustments he'd had made to them. She let the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat drift through her senses which made her heart race. Suddenly a hint of thunder went off in the distance and she padded to the window to see another flash of lightning far off but nearing. 


	3. Chapter 10

Attached to the back door leading out of the kitchen was an enclosed patio where Charlotte found Rafael the next morning, his laptop and blackberry on in front of him. She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking note that the storm from the night before was still busy outside. His simple black sweater and loose-fitting jeans gave him the appearance of being relaxed but his mind had moved back to being professional. He hadn’t heard her start the coffee but she knew he would smell it soon. 

He must have heard her lean against the doorframe and he turned, his eyes meeting hers. Despite his Cuban complexion, a gentle blush spread through his cheeks. 

“Good morning,” she offered.  

“Morning,” he replied as he turned back to his laptop.  

She returned to the kitchen, making up and bringing two cups of coffee with her and sat across from him. He thanked her as he took a large sip and she propped her feet up on the table behind his screen. The storm was dying behind her.  

“You're quiet,” she remarked, breaking the silence.  

“I'm working,” he said flatly.  

“What is it?” 

“This?” he indicated his notepad and screen, “trying to find a loophole for Olivia.” 

“No, Rafael, what is it with you?” 

“I'm sorry?” He peered up at her, concerned.  

She brought her feet down and sat forward. The rain had stopped. “You're too quiet.” 

“I'm fine,” he answered quickly.  

She hesitated for a moment. “Was it last night?” 

He didn't look up but she watched as his body subtly reacted to her question, his jaw clench and his legs adjust uncomfortably.  

“No,” he said almost as if he had to convince himself.  

She gave him a single nod as if to tell him she knew he was lying but she accepted it.  

Sun began to peek through the clouds.  

“Did you plan on sitting here and being a drag all day? Get dressed. Let's take the boat out.” 

“Boat?” 

“Boat.” Setting her coffee on the table she headed back into the house to change. Rafael sat back for a moment, considering telling her he needed to stay and work, but he smiled to himself and closed the lid on his laptop. “Oh and bring your suit. We'll have an early dinner.” 

The Sag Harbor Yacht Club was busy since the weather had cleared up and the valet gave the pair a look as if to welcome a happy couple. Rafael's downtrodden face was hidden behind his aviators as he tucked his hand in his navy blue Bermuda shorts while carrying two garment bags with his suit and Charlotte’s dress.  The gentle breeze was promising as Charlotte waved to the Yacht Club owner. He made a move to come over and talk to them but Charlotte turned quickly and headed down the dock, pair of keys in hand. They paused in front of a white yacht, bobbing gently in the water. 

Rafael lifted his sunglasses onto his head. "Is this your yacht?" 

"It's my yacht," she said proudly. "Well, I hate calling it a yacht. It's not quite yacht status." 

"We're at a yacht club," Rafael added, popping his glasses back down onto his nose as he climbed onboard.  

Charlotte spin around, mouth agate. "I see you brought the jokes." 

Despite his attitude Rafael smiled and shooed her forward. 

A half hour later they were floating peacefully in Sag Harbor Bay without laptops or cell service. Rafael had already found himself a cozy chair on the deck and had his hands behind his head, his tanned skin accepting the sun with welcome. Charlotte shook her head as she brought out two glasses of wine and sat beside him, tapping his stomach with the bottom of the glass to get his attention. He thanked her and sipped, placing the glass on the deck beside him as he turned again to his closed eyes and sunbathing. 

"You've barely said a word since we've been out here," Charlotte said, drink in hand. 

"I'm just enjoying the bay." 

She sipped again. "That's not like you. Your mind is always on. You never blatantly enjoy anything." 

His eyes fluttered open for a moment at the truth in her statement. His mouth parted but he closed it and his eyes again. 

"Talk to me, Rafael." 

He shot forward, annoyed. "Maybe this was a mistake." 

"I wish you'd stop saying that and give me an actual reason." 

"I don't want you to get the idea that this is anything more than what it is." 

She paused, confused. "Are you sure I'm the one who's thinking it's something else?" 

He was visibly frustrated now at how much she understood him. "I don't think a relationship between us would be good for _your image_ , which is obviously what matters to you most." 

"I never said that." 

"It's generally implied," he said taking a sip, glancing at her wedding ring. 

"You can't let it go." 

"How can I? I don't go around fucking married women in case that was the impression you had." 

"Oh don't you?" 

"Fuck off," he got up, hands in his hair. She enjoyed pushing him. She enjoyed his passion when she knew what he was thinking but he wouldn't say it out loud. She knew his defenses and his buttons and what drove him.  

Angrily she sat forward, staring at him. "Rafael why are you so angry?" 

He spun to her. "What happened when you left?" 

Shock hit her. "What?" 

"Twenty years ago. When you disappeared. You were raped weren't you?" 

"Raf I don’t..." 

"Oh, I do," he implored, eyes blazing as he sat back down next to her, turning his chair. "I need to know. I need to hear it from you. I did what you said, Charlotte, I've been fighting for you all this time. I transferred to SVU because I needed to be a voice for you as a victim but I never knew the crime and I want to know. Please." He was suddenly tired and exasperated and desperate. She hadn't planned to ever tell him. She'd wanted to bury it as far down as she could just like she was told to do when it happened. And up until this moment she had done an excellent job. 

“Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to go back there.” 

He adjusted in his seat, seeing his way in. “You text me after twenty years and then tell me ‘don’t go back there.’” 

She squirmed uncomfortably. “Rafael,” 

“You were on my couch. You had just come from somewhere.” 

She stood, folding her arms around herself at the memory. 

“It was a stupid party.” 

“Whose?” 

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” 

“Whose?” he asked again, with more intent. 

“A fourth year.” 

“What happened?”  

“Guess Rafael.” 

“How?” 

She shook her head, angry at his persistence but felt like she owed him an explanation. “You know what happens, you've worked these cases enough. I went upstairs to find my friend to leave and she was in a room with a guy. She asked me to help her get away but there was more than one. They weren't happy that I was there to help her.” She chucked sickeningly. “I grabbed her by the arm but they grabbed mine. There were six of them.” 

Rafael could smell the smoke coming out of his ears and his hands were white fists. His mind raced in Spanish and his muscles tensed. Charges and jail sentences flew through his mind. 

“What happened when you left me?” She could hear his accent thicken.  

“Your aunt had called my father to let him know where I was. He wanted to speak with me. He wanted me home right away and not to tell you. Our lawyers hushed it up, we moved. They tried to send me to a psychiatrist and put me on medication but I said fuck it, just get me back into law school. It was the only place I felt safe, in control anymore. I would put them away someday. But part of my lawyer’s stipulation was that I couldn't have contact with you or it would ruin everything and I would have to go to trial and everyone would hate me. I know I took the easy way out but it was all I could do.” 

“You couldn't even write me a fucking letter?” 

“I didn't have a choice, Rafael.” 

“You always had a choice. You made yours.” 

“It was made for me.” 

“You could have said no. You could have stayed.” 

“I came to your house!” She was crying now as she saw his fiery anger melt to tears behind his eyes. “I wanted you more than anyone. I could have gone home. It would have been closer. But I didn't, Rafael, I made my choice. You cleaned me and wrapped me in your clothes and kept me safe. I chose you.” 

He shook his head, angry still but now with a humbling understanding. 

"How many times is it going to take for me to say I'm sorry for you to forgive me? Just give me a number and I'll do it." 

"You don't get it, do you?" 

She shook her head, frustrated that this couldn't be simpler. "Help me understand." 

She knew him well enough that his anger wasn't real. She knew it was covering pain but she hated to see him in either state. 

He got up quickly and went into the control room where he brought up his suit that was hanging in its bag, waiting for dinner. He tore the zipper open and pulled apart the small drawstring bag that was looped around the zipper. Inside were his suit accessories. He pulled out his cufflinks. 

"This. _This_ is what you don't get." His eyes were red with tears. "This!" He pulled out his suit which didn't have a size in it because it was custom made. His vest made with six buttons so he wouldn't button the last one. French dress shirt. Stitched gently on the tag in the back of the blazer was the word _Armani_. He let the suit drop to the deck. “You think I just want to hear that you're sorry? I want what you can't give me. I want time back. I want twenty years back. Let's go back and do it over. I wake up and you're there next to me. We deal with your family together after I make you eat breakfast. I wanted more time with you. But you took it from me. You took a life with you from me. And you can never give that back. So no, sorry doesn't cut it.” 

He got up and scooped his suit of off the floor. “I'm getting dressed for dinner,” he stated, and headed below deck. Charlotte sat frozen in her seat, barely able to process what he'd said. She thought she'd only been sitting for a couple moments when he alighted in his suit. 

“I'll bring us back in if you want to get dressed.” His tone scared her. He was calm and collected, adjusting his cuffs to a half inch out of his jacket. She simply nodded and headed below deck. Her dress had an old-fashioned cut: knee-length dress with a high collar. Her hair was pulled up in a loose twisted knot. The man from the yacht club had come aboard to bring the yacht in by the time she alighted from below deck. Rafael tipped him and he helped them from the boat. The yacht club took care of the rest while they headed back towards the clubhouse. But Charlotte headed towards the car instead.  

Rafael paused. “We're not eating here?” 

Charlotte turned and smirked at him before clicking her key to unlock her doors. “Nope,” and motioned for him to get into the passenger’s seat.  

Moments later Rafael recognized the roadway they'd turned onto. Spread to his right were the polo fields, horseless and spectator-less at the moment. He shook his head at her as the valet took her place in the driver’s seat. She stared at the fields for a moment.  

Rafael put his hands in his pockets as he stood beside her. She heard him search for the words. He simply smiled and shook his head before holding out his hand for hers as they climbed the stairs inside. The maître d’ greeted Charlotte and led them to their table that viewed the fields. 

Having quickly downed half of his scotch he sat back in his chair. “So. Here.” 

She smiled. “Yes, here. I thought it was appropriate.” 

“Is there a reason you planned to bring me back here?” 

“None in particular. Just thought there were some good memories here.” 

His eyes wandered back to the fields and they searched for the memories of the first time he'd worn her brother’s clothes, learned to unbutton a sports jacket, carried her off the field when she was in pain, met her father, ate perfect food, went upstairs… 

Then his eyes fell back on her. She was sipping on wine when his gaze hit her. She's been watching him remember. 

“A memory you'd like to share?” She raised an eyebrow.  

He clenched his jaw and shifted in his seat. He lifted his scotch to his lips and let it pour down. It ignited his senses and flared his inhibitions. Suddenly he slapped the napkin from his lap onto the table.  

“Get up.” 

“Rafael?” 

He whispered sternly, “Get. Up.” He buttoned his suit jacket.  

“Sir?” The waiter noticed him.  

“We’ll be right back. Would you top our drinks?” 

“Of course, sir.” 

Rafael nodded and ushered Charlotte towards the door in front of him. Before she could exit and ask him questions he looked behind him and grabbed her arm, pulling her to the staircase.  

“Raf!” He climbed with her to the same floor and found the same door. Empty, he opened it and pulled her inside.  

“Rafael! What-?” 

The door was locked behind them and she was against the counter. She swore she could feel his heart beating through his skin. He lifted her onto the counter and pulled her dress above her knees where he rested his hands. His tongue was down her throat. Her hands were on his belt. 

“The last time we were here…” she began.  

“The last time we were here…” he growled, “I didn't finish what I started.” 

She bit her lip and let his dress pants stay up, belt undone, and smiled, running her hand along his erection which was braced against his slacks.  

“Arghhhh,” he complained, involuntarily pressing into her grasp. She could feel a small wet spot form on the outside of his pants. Amused, she made the mistake of laughing.  

“You want to make this a game?” He asked, fire in his eyes. His hands shot back underneath her knees where he could pull her closer to him. She gasped from surprise as his fingers ran back up her legs, gripping her waist. He pulled her closer until their faces were touching and their bodies were inseparable, save their angelic fabrics. 

He ground himself against her, bringing his lips to meet her neck and his teeth to graze her burning skin. Reflexively she reached between them, dropping his pants to the bathroom floor and freeing him into her hands. 

While she wasn’t paying attention his fingers moved between her legs, finding her already wet for him. With the suddenness of shoving two of his massive fingers inside her, she let go of him and wrapped her arms around his body, letting out a desperate cry. His laugher vibrated through her. 

“Rafael, please,” she moaned into the shirt that still covered his chest.  

“Please what?” The darkness in his voice made her shake. 

He added a third finger. 

“Uhnnn,” she moaned against him again. 

“Please. What?” He repeated his question, enjoying his responses so far. He didn’t wait for her response this time. Rafael quickly retracted his fingers before he used them to guide himself back and slam into her. 

Her body jumped as she let out a scream, her nails gripping into his clothes. He repeated the motion as she threw her head back, swearing in a mixture of pain and pleasure. His hands moved her waist with his pace as he grunted into her neck, listening to her beg for him. Sweat beads formed on his forehead from the smallness of the room and the friction between them. Her body was trembling under his fingers, just the way he wanted her. 

“Wait, wait!” She put her hand on his chest to stop him and he froze.  

“What? What is it?” He was motionless, frightened he'd hurt her. 

She took a deep breath in and flipped her hair back. “It's just…” she put her head back smiling. “I'm not exactly…” she moved her hips a little, “used to you.” 

It took a moment for his brain to compute and as if it wasn't already his face grew a shade redder. 

“I'm sorry,” he started.  

“No, no, it's not your fault. Obviously.” She laughed of embarrassment.  

His gaze drifted back to hers. “Slower?” 

She took another deep breath and closed her eyes, nodding. “Slower.” 

He obeyed, using his hands on her hips to hold her still while he pulled from her and slowly guided himself back in. He didn't blink his eyes from her face, reading every expression, making sure she wasn't hurt.  

“Ohhhh my god,” she let out a shaky breath, gripping his shirt.  

“Stop?” he inquired quickly. 

“No, no, please don't stop.” With added confidence he picked up the pace gradually again, carefully. Sweat formed on his lower back in effort and where her fingers gripped his body. He could feel that she was substantially wetter and moving with her was becoming easier. Her body accommodated him and the pain aspect disappeared.  

“Okay come on fuck me,” she said suddenly, putting her hands on the counter behind her.  

“What?!” He was aghast. “But…?” 

“No, come on, fuck me.” She adjusted herself to accept him better and he didn't need a third reminder to take her completely. This time it was he who wasn't ready. He built quickly, hearing her want him so desperately put him over the edge and he came into her before he'd wanted. 

Angry with himself he paused for a moment, catching his breath, sweat dripping from his forehead.  

“I'm sorry, I didn't…” 

“No, no,” Charlotte brought his lips to hers, “it's okay, I…” 

“No, no, it's not.” In a moment he was out of her and kneeing between her legs.  

“Raf! What…?!” His mouth was on her despite having to taste himself. She gripped the counter, the marble not giving-way like his skin did. She wrapped her legs around his head. He slipped two fingers back inside her. Despite his exhaustion and lack of breath, he pressed his mouth into her and used the rest of the strength in his arms to bring her close. His efforts were rewarded quickly as her legs trembled over his shoulders. She came hard for him, his tongue enough in itself to drive her wild. He dropped from her, sitting on the cold tile floor, leaning back and resting his head on the coolness of the closed toilet. 

“Raf,” she interrupted them catching their breath.  

“Yeah?” 

“Do we have to get back to dinner?” 

He rocked his head from side to side. “I already paid and tipped for the drinks.” 

She relaxed. “Thank you.” 


	4. Chapter 11

Rafael was staring at the fan swirling on the ceiling of the guest bedroom. He’d done this before. He’d watched this fan go around before. Twenty years ago. Same pace. Same ever-so-gentle breeze reaching his five-o’clock shadow. 

_The windows_ _had been_ _all_ _put_ _down on the ride home. They were both still sweating._  

Charlotte lay on her side in her king sized bed in the master bedroom. There was a picture of her and David in St. Maarten on their honeymoon on the night side table. It was staring at her. 

_They’d dashed down the stairs of the country club like high school runaways. They got looks from others that they didn’t care about._  

Rafael’s body was tired but his mind was electric. He had to leave tomorrow morning. This was it. He had cases that he hadn’t reviewed. He had interviews he should have attended even on the weekend. Olivia. He closed his eyes. What about Olivia? 

_Charlotte had carried her heels like her feet hurt from the reception at a wedding._ _They’d torn down the stone stairs to the tables by the polo fields._  

Charlotte’s mind was tired but her body was electric. He had to leave tomorrow morning. What then? She had a husband down in DC that she didn’t want to see again. She never wanted anyone else to touch her. But he would be gone tomorrow. 

_She’d dropped her heels and_ _dashed onto the field, stomping_ _the divot pieces from the game last played. Rafael watched her in amusement. She stopped suddenly and pointed at him._  

_“Sujeta la chaqueta.”_  

Rafael closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about saying goodbye. He didn’t want to think about another twenty years. He didn’t want to think. His eyes got heavier and he was slipping into sleep. 

_He’d l_ _aughed at her, taking his suit jacket_ _off and letting it drop to the ground in defiance._  

_“What do we do with this night?” he called to her._ _Sh_ _e stared at him from a quarter across the field._  

_“What do we have left?”_  

She got up. He couldn’t leave tomorrow. He couldn’t leave again. 

She was in the guest bedroom. His eyes were closed. She could see his spread of chest hair under the light covers. She dragged her eyes down his body and bit her lip in anticipation of him. Sitting on the edge of the bed he stirred slightly. The electricity in her body brought her nose within inches of him, inhaling the remainders of his cologne and ever so gently pressed her lips to his. She felt him jolt faintly at the sudden contact. The ever-so small stubble on his face brushed her skin and sent a surge of desire through her. 

“Rafael,” she whispered inaudibly into his lips. She slipped her hand onto his chest and ever so slowly pushed it down to his stomach. This woke him with a start. 

“Char-Charlotte, what?” 

She pressed her lips onto his again and he responded, pulling her mouth into his. He broke quickly from confusion. 

“What are you…?” 

Charlotte felt the rest of his body betraying him quickly. He looked up at the fan for a moment, closing his eyes and biting his lips, praying for his body to yield. She laid her forehead on his chest and moved her hand down further, finding his erection growing against his wishes. 

“Rafael,” she breathed again.  

He let out a shaky breath putting his head back as her hand touched him. His legs involuntarily jerked at the sensation of her running her hand down his length which was growing with need by the second.  

“Charlotte, please, I can’t…uhhhh God,” she started moving, the friction driving his body to shake, his mouth to go dry. She moved faster, stroking him harder. He hated his body’s response to her, how much he craved and wanted her, what she does to him. 

He let go. He was here. With her. Again. Maybe for the last time. And he let go. 

He threw his hands in her hair and pushed his mouth onto hers, finding her tongue with his. She gripped harder at the suddenness. 

“Fuuuuuckk, Charlotte, ah, God,” his hips bucked to meet her as his eyes rolled up and closed, pleasure enveloping him. His eyes opened again.  

To the ceiling fan. Of this house. He’d had enough. 

He pushed her up so her open mouth pleaded for him and her hungry blue eyes stared into him. He wriggled out of her grasp and got up, taking her hand. 

“Rafael, no, I…” 

He led her out of the room and into the hallway to the end. He brought her into the master bedroom and in front of him. He backed her towards the bed until she fell backwards. Over her, she scooted backwards slightly as he crawled above her. His face was animalistic, hungry, but there was a fury she couldn’t quite place. 

“This was your room?” 

“Raf, what?” 

“You and him.” He reached over and smacked the picture on the nightstand onto the floor. “You were here with him.” 

“Rafael I…” 

“He fucked you here. He fucked you in his bed.” 

“I…Rafael please, I don’t…” 

She collapsed on her back when her head found the pillows. 

“Here?” He asked, shaking. 

She swallowed hard. “Here, yes, here.” 

He snarled. She thought she saw tears form behind the fury and put her hand on his cheek. He reflexively pushed his face into her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin, knowing she was here. She was his. 

His mouth drew in hers and he kissed away his pain, sadness, passion, want. She moaned into him, his breath hot on her face. She gripped his hair between her fingers, pulling him down into her. Her other hand was desperate to feel him again and she pushed it down his stomach but he pressed his body down against her instead. His hardness between her legs made her hips rise. He ground his hips against hers, feeling her body reach for him. 

“Rafael, no, no, please,” she pleaded, her hands on his burning back. 

“No?” he growled, amused. 

“I need you, please,” she begged. 

“Oh, yes, when you beg me,” he teased, pushing harder against her, feeling her dripping for him, her body imploring, tremoring, all for him. 

She pushed her hips towards him and complained as if with her last breaths. She moved her hands around his body, trying to reach between her legs to bring him into her like it was all that would save her. He caught her each time, with his hands, his torso, his teeth. He didn’t let her see he was dying himself. 

“I need you, let me,” she beseeched as if in pain. 

“What do you want?” 

“Fuck me, please, please, I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything,” he repeated. “Are you sure?” 

“Now, please, now, I…fuck, please baby,” 

He brought his hips back and pressed the tip of his cock against her. “Here?” 

“Godddddd, Rafael,” she begged again, pushing her hips forward to him. He smiled sickeningly and barely pushed in before slamming his body into her. 

“AHHHH FUCK!” she screamed, throwing her head back, her nails digging into the skin on his back.  

He knew her now. He pulled back and shoved into her again, swearing at the tightness. She spread her legs for him, asked for more, begged for more, and he gave it to her like she asked. He could feel her body trembling as he fucked her, taking care not to go in too deep but enough to make her whole being reach for him. He dipped his pelvis down so he could simultaneously grind against her clit as he moved in her. 

“Ohhhhh my God, Rafael, there, there, ahhhhh, God, yes,” she said desperately, her head back and body arched.  

He did as she asked, though it took more effort, seeing her writhe under him in pleasure was enough. 

“Fuck, yes, David,”  

And it was there that the world stopped. 

Right there. 

Frozen. 

Her eyes flew open. 

He pulled his body from her and backed himself away to the other end of the bed. 

“Rafael, no,” she tried, bringing her legs back together. 

He looked murderous. “What did you just say?” 

“No, no, I didn’t mean…” 

“Fuck! What the fuck Charlotte?” he implored between trying to catch his breath still. 

Tears welled in her eyes as her body started trembling and the blood drained from her face. 

“I…no, please, I didn’t…” 

He simply nodded, his jaw square in anger, and got up, leaving the room and slamming the door. Tears pooled in his own eyes but he ignored them as he headed down the hallway. He stopped in his room and put on a pair of sweatpants and a soft black sweater. 

She’d gotten up after him and paused as he’d closed the door. She looked down at her shaking hands. Reaching on the ottoman at the end of the bed she picked up a nightgown which she slipped on quickly and threw open the door. 

She was just in time to see him storm out of the guest bedroom, dressed and he headed down the staircase. Charlotte darted after him trying to catch him but he’d begun his decent.  

“I’m sorry! Please, Rafael, stop.” 

He just shook his head, fists clenched. 

She searched for the right thing to say. She stopped at the top of the staircase watching him approach the bottom.  

“It’s your fault!” she screamed at him and he froze with his foot on the very last step before the entryway. 

He spun to her, rage burning in his eyes in the dark. “What?!” 

Now she was angry. “This is because of you!” Her anger turned to hot tears that began down her cheeks. Shaking she collapsed on the floor at the top of the stairs, crying. 

He refrained from going to comfort her, setting his jaw. 

“It’s all your fault.” 

“How the fuck is this my fault?” 

“This…” she stammered between tears, “this is why he left.” 

“What?” 

“David,” she said quieter, staring at Rafael’s figure on the last step. One last chance. “This is why he left. Because of you.” 

“Me?” He spun to her, pointing at his chest. “I haven’t been here in twenty years. What the fuck does this have to do with me?” 

She tried to calm her tears as she lifted her hand to her chest and pointed at herself. “You’ve been here.” 

“I don’t understand you,” he said frustrated, and turned to take the last step. 

“It was your name; it was your name that I said.” 

“No…” 

“No, listen to me. I said your name. When I was with him. When he…when he fucked me in that bed it was your name that I said. And that’s why he left.” 

Rafael stood poised on the last step, staring up at her, trying to understand.  

“I tried so hard,” she continued, “to stop myself. I practiced. I practiced when I fucking touched myself to say his name instead of yours. Years. I finally had it right. No more of you. He was finally happy that I got it right but I could tell it was always in the back of his mind that he knew I was getting off on imagining you fucking me and not him. Until that one night. He said ‘tell me you love me.’ I smiled as he looked down at me and I said…” she bowed her head, tears dropping to the floor, “I said ‘I love you Rafael.’ And he got up. He dropped his wedding ring on the table. And he walked out.” 

He stood motionless in disbelief.  

“It was always you.” 

He sat at on the step, running his hands through his hair. He felt a well of emotions: tears from pain, fear, even excitement. His face in his hands, he could smell her scent on his fingers. His mind flashed back to the day of her father’s polo match when he watched the sun gleam off her hair as she laughed at a joke. He was, for once in his life, speechless. Half of him wanted to take her back to bed while the other half wanted to never see her again. 

“Talk to me.” 

He shook his head. 

“What can I do?” 

He shook his head again, feeling the stubble against his face. 

“I know you’re angry.” 

He chuckled in ire at her suggestion. “Yes, yes, Charlotte, I’m angry. Can you imagine why?” 

“Tell me what to do.” 

He put his head back and looked up at the chandelier. He stood suddenly and took the last step to the marble floor. Reflexively Charlotte put her arm out to stop him, not that she was even close. She was sure he would head to the front door but he turned instead towards the kitchen and the great room. 

She didn’t want to press him, especially if it might cause him to leave. So she took a deep breath and headed back into the bedroom where the picture frame lay on the floor and the covers were strewn. She heard sound coming from downstairs. Talking. She paused, wanting to know but also not wanting to know. Biting her lip as she decided, Charlotte turned around and padded back down the hallway. She tiptoed to the middle of the staircase and paused again. He was in the great room. She slunk through the entryway until her back was against the wall that made a ninety-degree angle into the great room and listened. He was on the phone, pacing. 

“You’re right, you’re right, that could happen. I’m not…no, I’m…Olivia, I’m not arguing that. No, I’m not saying that could never happen. I’m just saying that I’m going to do everything I can to stop him.” There was a pause. She heard him walk away from where she was hiding. Ever so slowly she bent around the wall and saw him faced away from her, his hand on the top of the cold fireplace, other hand holding the phone to his ear. His head was hanging down as he nodded with whatever she was saying.  

“I…” he smacked the stone, “No, no! You listen to me. That is his father. You know as well as I do that they don’t care. They would take a baby from God if they could prove Timothy McVey was the father! This isn’t about who is the better parent, Olivia, this is about legal rights.” He stopped again. The passion in his voice was startling. She knew she should turn back around and not take the chance but she couldn’t move. 

He sighed heavily and rested his elbows on the brick, leaning forward to drop his head against his hands. She couldn’t help admiring him standing there. His voice was quieter and calmer. “I will. Yes, I’ll be there for you every step of the way. Thank you for trusting me with your son. Where are you?” 

Charlotte found this an odd question. 

He waited for an answer. “Is that all you’ve had to drink?” His voice was still calm. “You promise me that? Don’t lie to me, Olivia.” Pause while he ran his fingers through his hair again. “Okay, alright. I do. Um, yes, yes I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay, yeah, alright, goodnight.”  

She spun around and padded back through the entryway to the stairs where she climbed back to the top step and sat on it like a chair, head in hands resting on her knees. 

There was silence for a moment before he appeared in the foyer, looking up to see if she was still there.  

“Everything okay?” she asked, concerned. 

“No,” he answered shortly, deeply. 

“Are you leaving?” 

He didn’t take his eyes from hers. He snorted sarcastically, “I probably should.” 

Her heart melted to the floor but she tried not to show it. “I understand.” She didn't want him to see her fall to pieces so she picked herself up holding on to the banister and turned from him as tears began to fall again. He called her name but she didn't turn around, she couldn't bear it. Inside the bedroom her hands found the coolness of the door handles and closed the French doors. She went over to the picture frame lying face down on the floor and put her foot on it, gently and first and then added the rest of her weight until the glass shattered underneath. She didn't dare open the doors and he didn't dare try. She stared at the deserted bed, dreading sleep, and hoping her self-loathing would lull her off to sleep.  


	5. Chapter 12

They had just rehearsed yesterday. Miss Morenas had been completely confident about her testimony and Barba was confident in her. He stood facing her tucked in the witness box in a blue sweater. He hadn’t planned on his blue tie matching hers. 

“I met Johnny D when I was fifteen,” she’d answered.  

“And what happened at that time?” 

“Well,” she paused, fidgeting with her hands. Her eyes moved behind Barba to Johnny sitting at the defense’s table. _Don’t look at him, look at me,_ he thought to himself. A sickening feeling formed in his stomach. He needed to keep her moving. 

“Do you need a minute, Miss Morenas?” He moved away from Johnny to keep her eyes following him. _Focus,_ he thought.  

“No, I’m fine,” she said, her gaze resting on him as he stood in front of the jury.   

“Tell us what happened when you first met the defendant, Johnny Drake,” he repeated, hoping to bring her back to reality. Again she shifted uncomfortably and flashed her eyes at Johnny.  

“He offered me money.” 

“To have sex with him?” 

“No, to clean his apartment.” 

Barba’s face fell in horror. The blood drained to his toes. _WHAT?!_ He turned in terror, his eyes moving from Johnny to Olivia who was seated in the gallery. Her eyes were wide with fear. He knew what was happening but he prayed it wasn’t so. _Not for Olivia,_ he implored.  

He needed to remind her this wasn’t a fucking game. “I remind you that you’re under oath,” he said exhaustedly. “Let me ask you again, Miss Morenas, when you first met the defendant was he a sex trafficker who beat and raped you?” He knew he was leading but he didn’t care at this point. If she couldn’t say it, he would say it for her. He just needed her to agree. 

“No, he wasn’t.” 

“You testified to a Grand Jury that Mr. Drake beat you and raped you. I remind you,” he said ready to lunge at her, “again, you are under oath.” 

“I only said those things so I wouldn’t be deported. I was afraid.” 

“Are you afraid of Mr. Drake now? Is that why you’re changing your story?” He approached her closely, staring her in the eyes, trying to make her more afraid of the law he represented then the man sitting behind him. He was glad the witness box was there and he enjoyed his suit or he would have jumped across it by now. 

“No, Johnny D never hurt or raped me. He loves me and I love him.” 

He held his stare into the girl’s eyes. “Your Honor I need to confer.” 

“I’ll grant you a one-hour recess.” He heard the gavel sound and he gritted his teeth as the courtroom got to its feet. He turned, unable to look at the girl anymore. Olivia was standing there and he knew she didn’t actually blame him but he blamed himself. He went back to his table and chugged a glass of water before pounding it on the wood, motioning for the witness to step down and follow them to a private room. Olivia, Carisi, and Rollins trailed, all equally angry at her. Once in the room his anger exploded. 

“¿¡ _Que carajo fue eso?!_ ” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” she yelled back at him. He slammed his fist on the table. 

“Who is threatening you?!” 

Olivia leaned down to her. “We can protect you.” 

Miss Morenas was adamant. “You can shout all you want, I told the truth.” 

Rollins rolled her eyes at the young witness. She could feel his rage about to spill over. “Barba…” 

“Get her out of here,” he demanded, snarling at her. As quickly as she stood, Braun entered the room with a shit-eating grin on his wide face.  

“Counselor,” he said smugly. 

“What?” Barba asked, restless and being in the presence of the last person on earth he wanted to see.  

“That deal I shopped,” he said closing the door, “it’s off the table. What with your star witness being dead and all…” 

Barba already knew he was going to say this. He took the opportunity to scrutinize his terribly matched lavender shirt and tie. His jacket hung open exposing his too-high slacks and his spread collar which only made him look heavier. Not to mention his balding head and triple chins. He wanted to get a look at his probably horrendous shoes but knew he had to pay attention for Olivia’s sake.  

“You mean murdered,” Olivia interjected, “by a hit that your client ordered.” 

He waited for Braun’s smart-ass remark. 

“You both know that’s impossible. You’ve got a witness reversing on the stand. It seems to me that reasonable doubt is suddenly very reasonable.” 

Barba had to turn away from him for a moment as his fists curled. He looked left at Olivia who was scowling at Braun and his cocky attitude. Barba wasn’t one to talk, however, with a reputation of firing snarky remarks everywhere he went. His eyes fell on Olivia’s for a split second. He couldn’t lose this for her.  

“Whatever you’re selling, Braun, we’re not interested.” 

As if anticipating this answer, Braun reached into his briefcase and produced a manila folder. “Well you might be interested in this.” He placed it on the table in front of them, flashing his eyes from Barba to Benson. With that he turned and left. Olivia watched him go as her eyes tore into him. She reached down and picked up the folder. Barba wished Braun had given it to him first, whatever it was, so he could review it and have a plan before Olivia opened it. He waited as Braun closed the door before turning to its contents.  

“Johnny D is requesting an emergency appeal to reinstate his parental rights and stop the adoption of his son, Noah Porter…” Olivia paused, smiling in contempt, “Drake.” He could feel her heart break. 

“Olivia…” 

“No,” she said under her breath, tears welling in her eyes. “He can’t do this.” 

“We are going to fix this. I am,” he paused, thinking rapidly, “I’m going to fix this.” 

“Rafael, I don’t know what to do. I can’t…” 

“Liv,” he grabbed her by the arm, hating to see her in pain, pain that he might have caused and was now his job to fix. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. 

She shook her head and walked out of the room, leaving him there with the sickening folder. He pulled out his phone quickly before he went after her.  

_How was it?_  

Charlotte remembered he was calling his first witnesses against Drake today. He hastily texted her back. 

_Drink._  

He walked the two blocks to Atera, a bit angry that she’d picked a place where he needed to keep his suit on nicely. Upon entering, he saw the bar stretched out in deep cherry wood to his left. Her gentle dark blonde curls caught his eye. He almost didn’t notice the maître d’ greeting him. 

“Coming from court, sir?” he asked causally.  

“Unfortunately,” he indulged him. 

The man smiled. “Perhaps a drink is in order. I believe Mrs. Denbeigh is waiting for you.” 

“Who?” 

He indicated Charlotte sitting at the bar. _Oh right,_ he remembered. _Denbeigh not Huntingdon._ He rocked his jaw back and forth, eyeing her before moving forward, passing businessmen who were probably buying their defense attorneys lunch. She turned to see him approaching. He took her in quickly, walking as if in slow motion. Her hair was pulled back in a gentle curl with not a hair out of place. Her legs were crossed in a pair of straight black slacks and a sleeveless black top with a Victorian neck and a cinched waist. Her heels were blood red like her lipstick. She smiled sideways at him as he sat down beside her, placing his briefcase on the stool next to him. She reached out and ran her fingers over his striped sky-blue tie and the lapels on his dark vest. He swallowed involuntarily just by having her touch him. 

“What happened?” she asked gently. 

He took a deep breath. “You-know-who wants custody.” 

“Does Olivia know?” 

He nodded. “She was there. She read the appeal.” 

The bartender brought over another glass for him. He picked up the bottle in front of Charlotte and graciously poured it into Rafael’s glass. 

“What is this?” he asked, swirling it in his cup.  

She hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “Just try it.” 

He locked his eyes with her in return and sipped. It wound down his throat and cut through his senses.  

“Chateau Montelena Estate Cabernet Sauvignon two-thousand ten. A favorite of mine. How did she react?” 

“As you’d expect. But that wasn’t the worst of it. I get my star witness on the stand and she fucking reverses on me. They got to her.” He slams more wine down his throat. 

Charlotte was calm, resting her face on her left hand, elbow on the bar, staring at his furious green eyes, now with a tad of fine wine behind them. 

“Who threatened her?” 

“I have no idea but she’s scared. They all are.” He shook his head. “They’re my fucking case, Charlotte.” 

Her breath caught in her throat as he uttered her name in the middle of downtown Manhattan after a direct examination. She pictured the jury staring at his ass and frowned.  

“Let me see what I can do,” she said smoothly, taking a large sip. 

“Where are you with the case?” 

“Not nearly where I need to be. Let me put some pressure on some people.” 

He sighed. “The best way we can go is a conviction; then there’s no chance of him getting visitation, much less custody.” He checked his phone. Olivia had called and texted to meet him at Forlini’s. “Fuck, I have to meet Olivia.” 

Charlotte put her hand over his, tickling his fingers. “Forget the fact that you’re an ADA from Harvard. You're also an asshole from the Bronx.” She nodded towards the direction of the courthouse. “Go show them that.” 

“Is that all that appeals to you about me?” 

She smirked at him. “If you want some kind of praise about your dick size or prowess in bed you’re asking the wrong person.” 

His nostrils flared at her as he shoved down the last of the wine in his glass, not taking his eyes from hers. He stood, gathering his briefcase, reaching for his wallet. She shook her head at him. He gave her an angry look. She shook her head again. 

Buttoning his suit jacket, he leaned in next to her. “You were right, that wine was delicious,” he made sure her eyes caught his while he dropped his hand on her knee, “but I’ve had sweeter.” She swallowed hard as his hand slid off and he left the restaurant without looking back. 

* * *

He loosened his tie as he popped into Forlini’s and sat at a table across from Olivia. He threw his jacket and briefcase on the seat next to him, pulled his tie down more and undid the button around his neck. He could breathe. The concern in her face was evident. 

“Tucker said this was gonna be a bad week,” she said angrily, putting her cup of coffee back on its plate. There was already a glass of scotch waiting for him. Olivia knew him too well. He shouldn’t mix it with the wine he’d just had but then again he couldn’t turn down a nice scotch.  

“I’m calling in favors, make sure the right judge rules on this appeal.” 

“Trevor Langan, Noah’s attorney, he’s on it. He says that the best move would be to get a conviction.” 

Barba smiled to himself at the repetitiveness in the wording he’d just said to Charlotte minutes ago. 

“Well, good idea but these girls are just so scared for their lives or scarred and I’m worried that they’re gonna fold too.” 

Olivia nodded. “What do we do?” 

Barba downed his scotch and shook his head from the intensity. “I’ll find a way to fix it.” He didn’t know what he was saying. _Fix it?_ He had no idea what his next step would be. He had to finish out the trial but with no guarantee that the girls would testify. He could get them for perjury but who would that help? 

 

* * *

As the words "free to go" crossed the judge's lips he just stood there motionless. He couldn't bear to turn around and face Olivia. Without the corroborative testimony of the girls there was all the room in the world for reasonable doubt. He hated to admit when Braun was right. Or any other attorney for that matter. Especially when he knew the defendant was guilty. He swore under his breath, knowing he was going to have to face the world. He would have given anything to be able to disappear out of the courtroom to the sanctity of his office. He closed his eyes, deciding to give it a moment to happen if he wished hard enough. 

"Barba," he heard from behind him. Well, his eyes opened, no magic today. He didn't turn right away, hoping Olivia's voice would go away. 

"Hey," she said softer, touching his arm. He shot her an acknowledging side glance.  

His phone buzzed. 

"I know you did everything you could." It was the last thing he wanted to hear. He _hated_ those words more than anything.  

"Yeah," he mumbled, picking up his things. He pushed in his chair and swung the gate open, flashing her a "not now" glance before escaping out of the courtroom. 

Once outside, he avoided the media frenzy and made a beeline for his office a block away. Meanwhile he checked his phone. Charlotte had texted him. There was part of him that wanted her to tell him to take a hard right and meet her at her hotel but it was the opposite. 

_Give me a call and let me know how the day went. I had to head back to DC. I'll let you know when I'm back in NYC. If you want._  

Anger fell over him. The one person he wanted to see wasn't here. As he entered his office, his stomach turned to rot when he realized who she was going back to. Her husband was in D.C. Regardless of their current status, if they're keeping up appearances they're going to be together. 

He threw his briefcase on the floor, throwing off his suit jacket and pulling his tie loose. Thank god he had a bottle of Macallans waiting for him. The folder for the reinstatement of parental rights was protruding from his bag. He toasted to it as he sipped. How was he going to face Olivia? Of course a conviction was the best way to go but now he would need to prove that Johnny D shouldn't have rights. Not even visitations? He didn't even really know Trevor Langan. He took another swig. He had colleagues but he didn't trust any of them to handle her case. He picked up his phone and dialed Charlotte's number as he swung his feet up on his desk. 

"Not guilty?" She answered. 

"Not. Guiltayyyy," he said pushing back in his chair. 

"Whatcha drinking?" 

"Macallans." 

"Excellent choice." 

"I don’t like her choice for counsel in the custody hearing." 

"Need a colleague?" 

"I don't trust anyone but myself." 

"Hmm and you proved that to her today didn't you." 

His nostrils flared. 

"I'm sorry," she said with a slight giggle. He was angry that he smiled back through the phone. 

"I need you to listen to me carefully. I need you to not worry about the hearing. I have some strings I can pull and I'm already wrapping them around my finger. But I'm going to need you to trust me, Rafael." 

"Oh and you've shown that you can be incredibly trustworthy." Next swig. 

"You're right, you're right. Just go with what her attorney says and go to the hearing. Everything will be okay." 

"How do I know that?" 

"You don't." 

He set his jaw and stared at the ceiling and spun in his chair to see his law degree behind him. Everything in his mind told him no, no, no.  

"Okay, alright." 

"Thank you." 

"When," he paused and made sure his door was shut as he turned around in his chair, "when are you coming back?" 

"Soon." 

"Like next week?" 

"Soon." 

"I..." 

"What?" 

He ran his fingers through his hair. "You're going home to him." 

"I am." 

He nodded to himself. 

"I was practicing his name when you called." 

Rafael's face flushed scarlet. "Oh really?" 

"I'll be in touch," and she hung up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exact dialogue taken from SVU. Property of Dick Wolf.


	6. Chapter 13

"I just need you to trust me on this," Olivia said to him. He saw the man bustle up to his secretary and he waved him inside. 

"You must be Mr. Langan," Barba said with his hand outstretched. 

"And you must be Mr. Barba." They shook hands civilly but Barba didn't have time for this. 

"What's your plan?" he asked, turning around his desk. 

"You don't waste any time do you, Mr. Barba?" 

"I do not," he said, taking a seat at his desk, indicating Langan to sit across from him. He wanted to trust Charlotte with the hearing but he didn't know what she was planning and in case she didn't come through, he needed to make sure that Olivia's attorney was up to the job. Since he couldn't represent her himself, he was going to do the next best thing. 

"Johnny D has a pretty extensive record. Regardless of the acquittals, his substantial convictions should raise red flags in the judge's mind." 

"And if it doesn't?" 

"Look, you know Johnny D as well as anyone. I'm hoping he gets angry enough that he causes a scene and shows everyone that he's not fit for rights." 

"Again, if that doesn't happen?" 

"Barba," Olivia said sitting forward, "listen to him." 

"I'm going to point out Ms. Benson's shining aspects. I'm going to point out the lack of involvement in Noah's life and the possibility that he is just doing this to get revenge on her. The judge will see it." 

"They'd better." 

"Mr. Barba I can appreciate your concern. You're a criminal trial lawyer and while I have the utmost respect for what you do, you don't do my job. You are an expert in your field and I am an expert in mine. Let me do my job." 

Barba set his jaw and roved his eyes from Olivia to Langan. He nodded. "I'll be in the courtroom." 

Langan smiled. "I'd expect nothing less." 

* * *

The courtroom was different in the gallery perspective and Barba didn't like it. He wanted to be in front of the rows of pews not trapped in them. He was right behind Olivia which probably made Langan nervous but he'd rather him be nervous than not. He'd already called Charlotte four times and texted but to no avail. She wasn't in her office down in D.C. either which alarmed him. 

The court proceeded on. If he'd had the option he would have paced along the isle. Barba didn't like not being in control. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A couple times his body twitched to make an objection. He reworded how Langan should be asking questions in his head. He mouthed the rulings the judge gave on the objections as she gave them. He was sweating and tapping his foot, folding and unfolding his arms. He was about to get up and take over the trial himself when there was an interruption.  

The door to the courtroom opened behind him and he spun around in surprise. In walked two very obvious FBI agents followed by the click of heels. 

Charlotte. 

Barba shot to his feet. 

"What the hell is the meaning of this?" Judge Barth yelled, outraged. 

"Excuse the interruption, Your Honor," Charlotte said firm but sweet, halting in the isle next to Barba's row.   

Judge Barth stood. "And who the hell are you?" 

"AUSA Charlotte Denbeigh with the D.C. FBI, ma'am." 

"We're in the middle of a hearing!" 

"I'm terribly sorry Your Honor, but I have a federal arrest warrant for Jonathan Drake." 

Johnny D's lawyer puffed up his chest. "My client was acquitted of his charges. Double jeopardy applies. He can't be tried again." 

Charlotte didn't miss a beat. "I'm aware of your client's acquittal but this is the federal circuit, Mr. Braun. We have him on international human sex trafficking in five different U.S. cities. New cases, new evidence, new victims." 

The FBI agents approached a stupefied Johnny. "Please place your hands behind your back, Mr. Drake." 

Charlotte peered over at Olivia and Langan but not Rafael. 

The agents led Johnny out of the courtroom, his lawyer in tail. 

Charlotte turned to the stunned onlookers. "Sergeant Benson, Mr. Barba, a word please," and swirled on her heel, heading out of the courtroom. 

Langan was first through the bar. "Barba, what the fuck is going on here?" 

Barba shrugged innocently. "I'll let you know," and patted him on the shoulder. 

He indicated for Olivia to follow him as they headed out of the courtroom. Charlotte’s heels clicked gently and he flashed back to the last time they were in a courtroom together. It was at mock during law school and he could even remember the sound of her heels then. She was dressed in black from the back, straight black slacks and a form-fitting blazer. Underneath was a crisp white collared shirt. Again he noticed that her heels were the same blood red. She ushered them into a conference room before shutting the door tightly. 

Turning, she extended her hand to Olivia. Suddenly Barba noticed an interesting feeling sweep over him. He had never been prepared for the two women to meet. Regardless of criminal trials, verdicts, and closing arguments, he’d never been this nervous. 

“AUSA Charlotte Denbeigh, how do you do?” 

“Sergeant Olivia Benson. I’m sorry, how do you know each other?” she asked, looking from Charlotte to Rafael. 

“Rafael and I know each other from law school.” She made her way around the conference table where she put herself down in a seat, leaning back. Rafael found himself increasingly intrigued in watching her do her job. Her face was hardened and all business which he was unused to. 

“Sergeant Benson I am the federal prosecutor for the United States versus Drake. We have Johnny D on ties to various  international sex trafficking rings and the circumstantial evidence is huge. But,” she said lifting her eyebrows, “I don’t really have a case here.” 

Barba’s mouth went dry as he took a seat across from her. “What the hell do you mean you don't have a case?”  

She turned her eyes from Rafael to Olivia. “Sergeant, I need to make a deal with you. In the plea I'm going to offer Mr. Drake I'm going to stipulate that he can never see, talk to, or even ask for a picture of his son while in custody or on probation. The charges he's facing are well able to put him away for the rest of his life.” She sighed heavily with the bad news. “He's not going to accept that. We’ll proceed to trial. In exchange,” she leaned forward, interlacing her fingers on the table, “I need you to get the witnesses to talk. Better yet, I need you to get them to testify. Now you'll probably only have to get a handful to agree to it. But once they do they can influence the younger girls to do the same. I need one-hundred percent backing from them.” 

“But you saw how they reacted on the stand before. They’re scared out of their minds,” Olivia challenged. 

Charlotte closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes, I know how they reacted before but I need you to get through to them. You’ve been doing this job for a long time and you know how to talk to victims. I’m going to fly you down to D.C. and you’re going to meet with them. You’ll have the FBI’s unlimited resources. I’ll fly in whoever or whatever else you want. I need them talking. And then again under oath. If you can do this for me, I can protect your son.” 

Olivia looked as though she might cry. 

“Liv,” Barba sat forward, “think of this as any other case. How do you get witnesses to talk? Relate to them.” 

Olivia slowly nodded. “And if I can’t get through to them,” she said with sudden hope, “then I get someone who can.” She turned her attention to Charlotte. “I’m going to need two plane tickets instead.” 

Charlotte smirked. “Done.” She stood up and held her hand out again. “We have a deal, Sergeant.” 

“Olivia,” she corrected, grasping Charlotte's hand. 

Charlotte smiled. “Olivia.” 

“Liv,” Barba piped up, “I’m going to talk with Charlotte for a while. I’ll catch up with you later.” 

Olivia nodded, thanked Charlotte again and headed out. 

Barba ran his hands over his face. Charlotte sat back down, this time with her usual smug smile. 

“Okay,” he said facing the window, “if you don’t have the witnesses cooperating and you only have circumstantial evidence, how the hell did you get a warrant signed?” He turned around to find her with her feet up on the table, satisfied with herself.  

“Why do you have to ruin my moment?” she said throwing her hands up, still smiling though. 

He couldn’t help smiling back at her though he tried to suppress it. Arms folded, he repeated his question, “How did you get the warrant?” 

“It’s not important.” 

He moved forward and threw her legs off the desk, sitting in their spot right above her. He could smell her perfume. He almost completely forgot where he was. She didn’t move away from him. His mind flashed to when she would sit in front of him on the defense’s table and completely make him forget his line of questioning. Oh who is he kidding, he forgot his name too. 

“How. Did you get. The warrant?” he asked slower, enjoying her eyes dancing. 

She sighed and her face fell slightly. “I know the judge.” 

“Know them?” 

“The warrant was signed by Judge David Denbeigh.” 

Rafael could swear he heard his brain crack in half.  

“ _Judge_?” 

“Judge.” 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

“Unfortunately, no.” 

“When were you going to let this slip?” 

Charlotte toggled her head back and forth. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come up. Look, it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s in custody. Olivia is going to get the girls to talk. Noah will be fine. Solved.” 

“Us?” 

“What?” 

Rafael’s face blushed slightly and he checked the closed door. He shook his head, embarrassed that he’d asked. “What happens with us?” 

Charlotte was pensive for a moment. “Let’s talk about it over dinner. On you.” 

Rafael rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, counselor,” she said in jest, striking his leg. 

“Or what?” 

She stood up and positioned herself between his legs as he sat on the table. Reflexively he put his hands around her waist. “Or I’ll make it so you can’t walk out of this room for another couple minutes,” she said darkly, pressing herself into him. Despite their setting and the events of the day, despite him just finding out that her husband is a federal judge, and despite his anger at her for not telling him, his body betrayed him and his pants grew tighter. 

“Don’t,” he tried but her lips were pressed to his before he had a chance. His mouth responded by opening to hers and tightening his grip on her. He knew at any moment someone could need the room and walk in. He knew Olivia knew where they were. He knew. But he didn’t care. For every courtroom rule and hardcore law he’d ever followed, he’d break any rule for her.  

“Tell me to stop,” he said to her, wanting her to be the reasonable one. He ran his hands down her chest but she said nothing. 

“I said tell me to stop,” he tried again as he kissed her neck and her fingers squeezed his thighs. 

“Charlotte,” God she loved it when he said her name but she said nothing to him. His hands found her skirt and he started to pull it upwards. 

“I…” and there was a knock at the door. 

“Taken!” Rafael called, a surge of adrenaline sending him into flight mode. They turned back to each other, faces flush, breath staggered. Greedy smiles crossed their faces. Charlotte  turned to gather her things. 

“Dinner?” she asked. 

Rafael slid off the table, pausing for a moment. “Actually, I have a better idea. Meet me at the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts at sixty-fifth and Broadway. Right at eleven o'clock. Oh,” he turned back around, “and don't wear this,” he indicated her up and down, “wear something sexier.” 

She let her mouth drop and crossed her arms.  

“Just trust me,” and with that he walked out.  

* * *

She was on time. Her cab pulled up a couple minutes to 11. Rafael was waiting in a pair of dark jeans, a crisp white button-up shirt, and a black blazer. She had a thing for his lace-up Oxfords. Alighting from the car she had followed his instructions. She was wrapped in a fitting, simple black dress with lace sleeves and a square cut neckline. Her one or two diamonds twinkled in the headlights of Broadway’s traffic. She tipped the driver and clicked her heels onto the sidewalk.  

“What the hell are we doing here?” she questioned, confused.  

He simply smiled. “You look incredible,” he said smoothly, touching her arm and kissing her cheek. He took her hand and turned, leading her down the street. They hung a right as he helped her over cracks and loose road pieces, taking care since he knew her shoes were unnecessarily expensive. There was a row of stores all closed for the night.  

“Rafael, where…?” 

“Here we are.” They were in front of a closed store called _Cuba Libre_. The signs out front indicated their specialty cigars and merchandise. 

“This is where you dragged me to?” 

“No, I'm dragging you inside.” He went up to the door of the shop and knocked. “Rafael Barba,” he said with trills on his r’s. She couldn't help smiling. After a moment the door opened into dim lighting. 

“¡Rafael! Hola, amigo, ¿cómo estás? Entra, entra, por favor. Quién es este?” The man took Charlotte’s hand and gave it a gentle kiss. “Señiorita, bonita. Rafael, it's been too long. How are things in the, how you say, ‘objection!’?” 

Rafael laughed as he put a hand on the man’s shoulders. “All’s well, Fernán.” 

“Maravilloso. Sí, when you go inside you tell Lucío at the bar that drinks are on Fernán, eh?” 

“Ah, thank you, amigo, gracías,” Rafael thanked him as he led them to the back of the dark store. He knocked on a door which was promptly opened for them. Rafael pulled Charlotte through the doorway into a small, closet-like room.  

“Holá, Señor Barba, you know the drill.” 

“Maceo, holá, sí, no problema.” Rafael handed him his sports jacket and Maceo quickly patted him down. He handed the jacket back to Rafael and waited until he was watching closely as he gently patted down Charlotte.  

“Enjoy your night,” Maceo said, turning ahead of them and opening yet another door. It led to a staircase which shot straight down into darkness.  

“You'll be fine,” Rafael said, taking her hand.  

“What the hell…?” 

“Trust me,” he said as they took it step by step. The closer to the bottom they got the louder the music was. Once at the bottom, they'd stopped at a door and Rafael reached onto the wall where there was what looked like a light switch. He flicked it up and down twice though no lights went on or off. Suddenly the door was opened and music poured into Charlotte’s ears. Cigar smoke clouded her and lights flashed.  

Rafael greeted the door-opener and he pointed him towards a back corner. He took Charlotte’s hand and pulled her through the dance floor. It was hard to see anything through the dusty crowd, the noise blaring, the beat resounding through her heels. She liked, for the moment as she was led through the throng of dancers, his hand around hers, leading her. There was something about the moment, how he held her hand tight enough as if not to let her get away but loose enough that she had the choice. She smiled and giggled to herself as she moved through the crowd, anticipating where he was taking her but completely trusting his guidance. 

Through an entryway and he nodded to two bodyguards who nodded back at him and objectively eyed Charlotte up and down. Green card tables. Colored chips passing back and forth. Cigar smoke, alcohol running like water. Men were dressed in suits and ties; women wore dresses that revealed way too much. Their heels were taller than them. Her hand still in his, Rafael approached the bar. 

“Lucío!” he called through the noise. 

“Rafael!” they gave each other firm handshakes before Barba held up two fingers. 

“Two shots of Pappy Van Winkle and two Secretariats,” Rafael said into the noise. Lucío nodded and brought the glasses in front of him and while he and Rafael conversed in Spanish, Charlotte leaned on the bar and watched Lucío work: Courvoisier L’Essence, Grand Marnier Cinquantenaire, five-spice syrup, lemon juice, orange zest, and star anise garnish. He then grabbed the bottle for the shots and filled them in front of the pair. 

“¡Disfrutaís!” 

Rafael slid Charlotte’s over to her. She saw him want to say something else but he held himself back. Clinking his shot glass with her, they both threw back the whiskey and coughed a bit. Rafael laughed deep, as if he couldn’t stop himself. She joined him as they picked up their Secretariats. There was something about him genuinely laughing and forgetting about the rest of the world that gave her the most happiness. His eyes grew sparkles and their green shine turned mischievous. She felt him put his hand on her back as they turned to face the room. 

“Now,” he whispered in her ear. The combination of the heat from his face, his dark cologne, the inhibitions of the alcohol on his breath, sent chills down her spine. “Here’s the plan. I’m going to need you to stand behind me and make all the other players at the table jealous so they forget the cards they’re playing and are concentrating more on your beauty than their hand. Can you handle that?” She felt her face turn scarlet. Usually she would smack him in the arm or make some smart quip back but instead she let herself be flattered and smiled down at the floor as he pulled her over to a table. Sitting down at a table with four other players, the dealer indicated the table minimum of $100. Rafael pushed 25 $20 bills at him and he nodded at him, pushing back his respective chips. Charlotte sipped at her drink while she smelled the genuine Cuban cigar of the man next to Rafael. She enjoyed hearing them exchange Spanish in various dialects and shaking hands. Rafael spoke with other players in Cuban slang which threw Charlotte off following the dialogue. Her Spanish was rusty anyway so she usually just enjoyed listening. The dealer, who she found out was named Mario, asked for their bets. Rafael put in $200 in chips. He was dealt a 6, dealer kept his face-down card, then he was dealt a king, and the dealer revealed an ace. Charlotte watched the other men argue over whether to stand or hit. When it came to Rafael he took insurance because of the ace and then stood. Unfortunately, the dealer took a 4 and then another 4 which put him at 19 over Rafael’s 16. He brought his bet down to $100. Rafael took another sip of his drink and finished it. He turned around but Charlotte simply smiled at him. 

“I’ll get it for you,” she said and motioned for another from the bartender. Lucío nodded at her and sent two more over to them. Meanwhile, Rafael got a 10 and a 6 while the dealer retained a 7. He stood again. Dealer got an 8, which only made 15 so he had to deal again. King! Dealer was over 21, Rafael won. He turned around, taking the drink from Charlotte that she’d been handed and kissed her. His eyes were blaring. 

“You’re my good luck charm,” he said deeply. 

$100 bet. Rafael: jack and queen. Dealer: 7. Stand. Dealer gets a queen. Win! 6 and 9 against dealer’s 4. Stand. Jack and king for the dealer. Win! Rafael went to bet another $100. 

“No, no,” Charlotte said, stopping his hand, “he needs an exchange,” she said to the dealer.  

“¿Cuánto cuesta?” 

Charlotte pulled out her checkbook. 

Rafael turned to stop her. She swatted at him. 

“Let me spend my husband’s money,” she said with a wicked smirk at him. He put up his hands as if to say “don’t shoot” and turned back around. Charlotte violently ripped out the check and handed it to the dealer. He waved over the manager who looked like he was the head of the Mexican mob. The dealer pointed at Rafael. 

Mob guy waddled around to where Rafael was seated. 

“Mr. Barba, it’s good to see you, sir. Does this exquisite woman belong with you? If not, I might have to steal her away.” 

“Oh no, Señor Sandoval, ella es mía.” The man smiled creepily and then patted Barba on the back. 

“Drinks are on me tonight, Mr. Barba. You both enjoy yourselves.” He winked at Charlotte as he waddled away. Before leaving, he gave a nod to the dealer to honor the check. He counted out all $10,000 and slid the chips over to Rafael.  

The next hand began. Jack and 7. 7 for the dealer. Rafael stood. King for the dealer. Push! $800 bet. Ace and 3 against the dealer’s 9. Hit. 4. He has a soft 18. Stand. King for the dealer! First loss! $800 again. Charlotte watched the game continue. She didn’t know what it was about watching him play, laugh, that softened her more to him. Maybe it was seeing him enjoy himself out of his element. Or her element for that matter. The alcohol was setting in; she was feeling more comfortable around him which could be a bad thing or a good thing. She put her hands on his shoulders, feeling the luxurious fabric and his warmth underneath. He clinked glasses with the gentlemen next to him when they both won a hand. She could feel his laughter through her hands. Looking down, her wedding and engagement rings gleamed on her left ring finger and it suddenly felt heavy and burdensome. She wondered if anyone would notice he did not have one to match. 

Before he’d finished his next drink a new one was set in front of him. He was lucky the drinks were on the house since they were $250 a glass. He held it up in front of him at the table. 

“To Secretariat!” The men at the table laughed with him and brought their glasses together before returning to their game. 

“Rafael,” she leaned in close to his ear. He turned his head for a moment while the other men debated on their bets. “I'm going to look around a little. Will you be here?” 

He turned, putting his hand on hers, “I don't like the idea of you wandering off in here…” 

“You'll be here. Great,” she said with a sarcastic smile and brushed fuzz off his jacket before picking up her drink and clutch and turning away from him. She took a sip and let her heels click slowly across the floor, looking at the other tables. Men's eyes roved over her and they lost track of their bets. She exited the casino area and found herself back in the dance room. The music was blaring and she could feel the beat through her shoes up her spine. Even the drink in her hand vibrated. Charlotte moved towards the small bar, finding a place she could watch the people on the dance floor. 

“You don't belong here, do you?” She was startled by the voice next to her. The bartender was behind her.  

“I'm sorry?” she asked, not understanding.  

“Who are you here with?” Her liquid confidence kicked in.  

“I don't have to be here with anyone.” The bartender’s smile slowly spread. He leaned forward on his elbows. “Follow me to the other end of the bar; someone would like to meet you.” 

More liquid courage led her to walk parallel with the bartender to the other end where two men sat drinking what could only be expensive brandy. 

“Ah,” they both stood to greet her. The one she immediately recognized as Sandoval, the one who allowed her check to clear. “We meet again, my dear. Please, sit, have a drink with us,” he indicated next to him. She wasn't sure who the other man was.  

“So,” she said looking around, “you own this place?” Sandoval smiled.  

“I run it for the man who does. I am very lucky. I get to meet women like you.” His Cuban accent was obvious as was his naturally tanned skin. “What do you do?” 

Charlotte thought quickly. “My husband is in business for himself and I stay home for the time being.” 

“You must get lonely all by yourself. You should come here more often.” She raised her eyebrows.  

“And what's in it for me?” she asked, taking a sip and playing along. Sandoval didn't look as amused.  

“I don't like being lied to,” he said deeply. Her face fell and a chill fell over her.  

“I'm sorry?” The man leaned forward.  

“I don't like being lied to by a US attorney.” He shook his head. “You should know better. Your husband, who is not the man you came with,” he indicated the casino room, “must like being a judge. I doubt he likes you here with someone else though.” Charlotte could feel the blood drain from her face. As an attorney, she could argue her way out of any situation. But she had been caught so off guard that she wasn't prepared with a rebuttal. Taking a long drink, she stopped herself from bolting. Suddenly her life felt fragile. 

“I…” 

“Charlotte,” Rafael's hand landed on her shoulder, “I see you've met Señor Sandoval. I trust he isn't giving you any trouble.” She had never felt safer in her life. His hand on her shoulder was everything in that moment. She wanted to swing around into his arms. Sandoval smiled greedily up at Barba.  

“Of course not,” he said sweetly, “we were just getting to know each other better.” Barba's grip tightened ever so slightly. He picked up her drink and threw it back.  

“That's good,” Barba said, his voice suddenly becoming grave, “because if he was giving you any trouble, I would remind him that while you are a US attorney out of her district, I, on the other hand, happen to be the DA for _this_ particular district that we’re in right now and I can find about fifty violations that could send him and his constituents in some deep trouble. That is, of course, if he's looking for any.” The smile on Sandoval’s face remained as he and Barba stared at each other. The man next to him, however, looked like a scared schoolboy.  

“Charlotte and I were just chatting,” the manager said politely.  

“Is that true dear?” Rafael asked, moving his hand onto Charlotte's back. She felt invincible next to him.  

“Just chatting.” 

“I'm glad,” Rafael said, seething with anger. “How about we call it a night. Señor, it was nice to see you again.” As the men shook hands, Rafael smiled sweetly, “Usted mira a su puta espalda.” 

“Of course, of course, Mr. Barba. You both have a lovely evening.” His hand on her back, Rafael led Charlotte through the dance floor. Feeling him take care of her made her euphoric and she turned around, grabbing his hand and spinning, swinging her hips to the music. Rafael laughed out loud, giving her room to dance for a moment. She moved her feet, put her hands up and pulled him into her. His smile was bright enough to illuminate the room. She watched his beautiful brown oxfords step around her own, their hands coming together. She forced him to move with her, making him take a few dance steps along with the thick beat of the Latin music. She spun again, laughing at his amusement. He pointed towards the door, about to move her forward when she took a step to him, put her hands on either side of his face and locked her lips in his. His body jumped a bit from surprise but he returned her request and felt his desire  sear. She broke, winking, and pulled him towards the door.  


	7. Chapter 14

Upon arrival at the Hay-Adams Hotel in downtown Washington DC, Rafael’s door was promptly opened by a generous doorman while another took his garment bags and suitcase. The building looked like it was an architecture fantasy of Thomas Jefferson’s. Inside was a high, decorated cream ceiling and beautiful wood paneling. Arrangements of stunning white flowers sat on each side table. Businessmen sat discussing their day in the décor-matching seats. He was taken to the front desk where he was greeted by a bubbly blonde with straight hair, dressed in a black suit with a couple of strategically placed red accents. 

“Welcome to the Hay-Adams, sir, checking in?” 

“Uh, yes, I believe my reservation is under Denbeigh.” 

“Ah! Yes, you must be Rafael Barba, Mrs. Denbeigh’s associate.” Hearing this, a man quickly popped out from somewhere behind the desk’s backdrop wood paneling.  

“Mr. Barba,” the hotel manager, a dapper, dressed-to-the-nines, gentleman held out his hand for a firm shake. “Please follow me to your room. I took the liberty of giving you my favorite view of the White House lawn. I think you'll really enjoy it.”  

Rafael followed the excitable man up the elevator. “So,” he questioned, “how is it that you know Mr. and Mrs. Denbeigh?” 

He hated the notion of knowing Mr. Denbeigh but he played along. “Oh, I went to law school with Charlotte. We go way back.” 

He smiled brightly. “Well, sir,” he said arriving at Rafael’s room, “any friend of hers is a friend of mine. We'll always have a room here for you. For now, welcome home.” He opened the door to a quaint, ivory-golden room with a chandelier hanging from an art-carved ceiling. The bed and its extensive pillow collection was framed with matching drapes around it. The bed faced a small sitting area where a flat screen television was mounted on the wall.  

“This is stunning,” Rafael said, thanking the manager for his time.  

The man had made his way to the covered window at the other end of the room. “Oh but it gets better!” he said enthusiastically and pushed back the curtains to reveal the magnificently manicured White House lawn with the sky-reaching Washington monument stretching in the background. Washington D.C. was spread out before him from his window. He was speechless. The manager took note.  

“Told you it was wonderful. I've taken the liberty of bringing you a bottle of champagne and your garment bags are already hung in the closet. If you need anything at all please call down for me. For now, I'll let you get acquainted with the view!” And with that he closed the door behind him. The view was stunning, but his mind wondered to where Charlotte was right now. It was at that moment that his phone buzzed.  

_How's the room? Did the manager show you up?_  

He smiled at his text from her. 

_You’re creepy._  

_Haha_ _can you see the white house lawn?_  

He shook his head again, throwing off his suit jacket and shoes while sitting in the desk chair.  

_I can see the president’s tie through the oval office windows_. _When are we meeting?_  

_Tomorrow at 11_ _at the DDC._ _333 constitution avenue_ _ctrm 9_  

Rafael agreed and set his phone down, He pushed himself up from his seat and turned to the French doors that led out to the setting sun over the capitol city. It was a chilly evening but he stood outside and leaned on the balcony railing, taking note of the lights on in the White House, the place that represented the country’s executive system. His eyes roved over to the Capitol Building and its representation of the legislative system that wrote the laws he swore to uphold. And then he found the Supreme Court Building which represented the judicial branch he’d given his life for. He thought for a moment of the amount of cases they’d seen, the lawyers that had walked in and out of there with sweaty palms about to prosecute or defend the law of the country. He wondered how many times Charlotte had been in it. He ran his hands through his hair. It felt so strange being so far from what he considered his comfort of Manhattan. This was where it all happened. And he was in the heart of it. 

* * *

The same bubbly blonde was working at the desk when Rafael came back into the lobby with his traveler cup of coffee from his room service breakfast the next morning. She was wearing a similar outfit to the one from the night before. He’d changed considerably, however, with a grey three-piece suit, a crisp, white, French cuff dress shirt, a yellow, white, and silver striped tie, a white presidential-folded pocket square, his favorite black lace-up dress shoes, and a very special pair of cufflinks. She smiled at him with a double-take, her face turning a slight crimson as he approached. 

“Good morning, Mr. Barba. Cab to the Supreme Court?” 

“Cab yes,” he said taking a sip, “Supreme Court, no.” 

“Hmm,” she said picking up the desk phone, “you struck me as a Supreme Court-type.” She winked at him before asking for a car into the receiver. 

His ride through the capitol was slow but scenic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there without it being a low-funded school field trip. He was taken down 13th Street past the National Theater and then a left on Pennsylvania Avenue past FBI Headquarters and the Department of Justice. The road merged with Constitution Avenue and he wasn’t paying attention when the cab stopped in front of a modern-like building with the words _William B. Byant Annex United States Courthouse_ chiseled into the stone above the entryway. Courtroom nine was quite a hike. He stopped himself for a moment and took a deep breath before pushing open the oak doors. 

A group of women turned their heads from the gallery. He wanted to stop and take in the scene but he also wanted to give the illusion that he’d done this so many times before that he was almost bored. He let the door swing closed behind him and made his way up the aisle. His eyes caught Olivia standing up front. The courtroom looked quite different from the ones he was used to in New York City. Past the four rows of the gallery, there were two tables, one for the defense, one for the prosecution, each with two display monitors, built-in microphones, and four chairs. In between the two tables was a podium that controlled displaying pictures and documents of evidence onto the many monitors throughout the room. In the jury box, one screen was assigned for every three seats. The witness stand was off to the left, the chair surrounded by a circular wooden division. The seal of the United States Federal Court System hung above the bench for the judge which was currently vacant.  

As he passed through the bar, he saw Olivia’s face soften and turn to a smile. It was strange seeing her in this context, but exciting at the same time. Past her, leaning over the table for the prosecution, Charlotte was bent over, writing something quickly. Her hair was in a large curl over her shoulder where a crisp white collar met her hairline. Over it was a black and grey dress with half sleeves, a long silver necklace, bracelets, and he couldn’t help scowling at the two golden rings on her left ring finger, her hand sprawled on the table as she wrote. She was gently tapping her right foot in a pair of lace-up Oxford-like heels. The women all looked at him eagerly. 

“Am I late?” he asked, smirking. Charlotte shot up, concerned. 

“No, no, Mr. Barba, right on time.” She turned to the group of women sitting in the gallery. “I’d like to introduce ADA Rafael Barba from the New York City District Attorney’s office. He only went to Harvard so give him a break.” A couple of the girls chuckled. “Although he gets an A-plus for style,” she said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, looking him up and down. “Mr. Barba was responsible for prosecuting the first two cases against Drake and will be my co-counsel for this case.” Rafael didn’t like the sound of “co-counsel” but this was the federal circuit and he had no jurisdiction here. “Now, I know we don’t have a lot of time here but I want to run through our direct questions with all of you so you have an idea of what it’ll be like during the trial.” 

One of the girls raised her hand. Charlotte indicated her. “Um, yeah, so I know Sergeant Benson told us that it’ll be okay and I believe her and all and I was okay with making a statement but I don’t know about testifying. I mean, what if he comes after me or my family or my friends or any of us? I don’t think I can handle that. I don’t even feel safe being here right now. What if he knows I’m here?” 

Olivia crossed the bar back to where the witnesses were sitting. Barba smiled to himself, knowing she would know what to say, as she always did. 

“I know you’re all scared. I’ve been here before. I’ve been here waiting to testify and I’ve been scared. I wish there was a way that the jury could understand what you have all been through without having to testify but this is the only way. We can…” 

As Olivia spoke to the witnesses, Rafael motioned for Charlotte to speak with him aside. They walked towards the witness stand and leaned against the rounded frame. 

“So,” Charlotte said, her demeanor softening while next to him. His, in contrast, hardened a bit. 

“So these are the witnesses we have?” 

Charlotte nodded. “Olivia is amazing. She met with them for days and, like you said, she got them to agree to testify.” She folded her arms. “As you've heard they're not exactly excited about it and they're all scared but she's working them pretty well. If we can keep all of them, we have a case. If they start dropping, we fall.” 

He folded his arms back. “Who's this ‘we?’ This is your jurisdiction. I'm just here because I feel bad leaving these people in the hands of a Yale bulldog.” 

She smacked his arm playfully while Olivia motioned for them to rejoin. 

Charlotte picked up the witness list from the table and called the first witness in the new order she had been quickly jotting down.  

“Miss Vargas, you’re going to be sitting right here and I want you to remember how Sergeant Benson talked to everyone about answering questions.” 

Barba took a seat at the prosecution table, feeling strange that he wasn't the one asking the questions. Memories of mock flooded him.  

“Miss Vargas, can you tell me what time it is?” 

“Um,” the nervous woman looked at her watch and announced, “it's eleven twenty-two.” 

Charlotte shook her head. “Miss Vargas remember; you are to answer the question in front of you as simply as you can. Don't go looking for the answer until it's asked. Think about the simplest answer to my question. Do you know what time it is?” 

Miss Vargas thought about it for a moment and her eyes fell on Rafael. He raised his eyebrows and nodded emphatically.  

“Yes,” she answered. Charlotte smiled. 

“Good! What time is it?” 

“Eleven twenty-two.” 

“Excellent. Did everyone see the difference there?” The witnesses nodded at Charlotte. She took a moment to turn around and eye Rafael suspiciously before turning around again.  

“Miss Vargas can you tell me how you know the defendant, Mr. Drake?” 

“Yes, I met him at a club that my friend Alana took me too back in…” 

“Not how you met him, Miss Vargas, how you currently know him.” 

“She's answering that,” Barba shot at her.  

Charlotte spun around, her expression blazing. “Excuse me?” 

“Charlotte, come on, she's getting there. Let her answer the question.” 

“I need her to understand how to be specific.”

“She is, just let her tell the story. She's not going to say anything incriminating about herself.” 

“Well I don't know that so…” She paused. “I'll ask the questions right now, alright counselor?” 

He wanted to give her some choice words but he refrained. He was, after all, co-counsel. He motioned for her to continue. 

“Again, Miss Vargas, how do you know Mr. Drake?” 

“Uh, well he was my pimp for a year when I lived in D.C.” 

“That was perfect, Jennifer, thank you. Now can you tell me where you met the defendant?” 

“I was at a club with my friend Alana and she said I should meet this friend of hers so she takes me upstairs.” 

Olivia quietly sat down next to Barba while Miss Vargas related her story of meeting Johnny D. 

“Give her a break, lawyer shark, this isn’t your case.” 

He leaned his head to the side to hear her better while keeping his eyes on Charlotte and the witness. 

“I’m here for you, you know.”

“What?” Olivia asked a little louder. 

“I’m here for you. I’m here because I fucked up the first two cases against Johnny D and I’m not letting him get away again.” Barba turned to face her brown eyes he knew so well. “I’m not letting him take your son.” 

Olivia’s mouth dropped slightly. 

Charlotte thanked Miss Vargas for her testimony. 

“Whoah,” Rafael said, tearing away from Olivia and standing to face his pacing co-counsel, “you forgot half the examination.” 

“Excuse me?” Charlotte asked, cocking her head at him.  

Rafael mimicked her. “How about ‘Can you tell me about the first time you allege Mr. Drake raped you?’” 

“These women have been through enough. They don't need to go through that pain again.” 

“The jury hasn't been through it.” 

“They don't all have to tell all of the details. One or two will suffice for today.” 

“Charlotte, I'm not willing to take the chance of what will ‘suffice.’ We need this to work.” 

Charlotte turned to fully face him. 

“Don't presume to tell me how to try my case, Mr. Barba.” 

Rafael stepped around the prosecution table. 

“Don't presume to tell me how to do my job.” 

A step forward, pointing at him. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to be on this case!” 

Slams his hand on the table.  

“Maybe you shouldn't be trying this case!” 

The courtroom was silent. A weight fell over them. The two prosecutors stared at each other, frozen. Small drops formed in Charlotte's eyes.  

"Sergeant Benson,” she finally said, “we're going to need to break for a bit and resume after some lunch, alright? Please have everyone order whatever they want.” With that she picked up her briefcase and coat and headed out of the room. 

Rafael slammed his fist on the table again and swore. Against his usual put-togetherness he ran his hand through his hair and picked up his things as well, trailing after her.  

She was headed down a flight of stairs when he saw her blonde head turn the corner.  

“Charlotte!” he called, not caring who was around. “Come on, stop.” 

She said nothing and continued walking down the steps. He followed behind her.  

“Char, stop, you know that's not what I meant. Can you please just…?” 

She halted. “I won't ‘please just’ anything, Rafael.” He caught up to her on the next landing. “This is my fucking case. Just because you couldn't put this sicko away the last two times doesn't mean you have to fuck it up for me now. Got it?” 

“I…” 

“No, I need a minute. Go back to your hotel. You're not needed for the rest of the day.” She spun and left him down the stairs. He took a deep breath while he stood there watching her go. He knew why she was angry. And he also knew he played an important part in being here for her. This wasn't just about the case because he knew she could handle prosecuting the case from a legal perspective. The part she couldn't play was that she wasn't affected by rape before. He knew this is where her anger came from. He knew it's why she didn't want the witnesses to have to talk about everything they'd been through; it was because she still couldn't do the same. 

He closed his eyes and let her get out of sight for a while before heading onto the block outside to hail a cab.  

Instead of going right back to his room he found himself at a nearby restaurant where he had a drink and a nice lunch. He took his time while texting Benson. Olivia said that Charlotte had excused herself for the day and let Olivia prep the girls on the stand instead for a while. Barba thanked Olivia for doing this as he found a park he could sit in while taking some calls and working on his laptop. As the sun set, he headed back to his room finally and looked at his empty fluffy bed. Picking up the room service menu from the desk, he decided on salmon with wild rice and a nice white zinfandel. He settled down at his desk with his dinner and a couple case notes to review. His tie was on his bed with his vest while he'd hung his suit jacket back up in his closet.  

The knock on his door came as a shock.  

“Yes?” he asked surprised.  

“It's me,” Charlotte's calmed voice vibrated through the door.  

He paused for a moment, not sure the right move. He brushed himself down and flipped off the news while blotting his face with his napkin. His hand rotated the door knob. 

“Sorry to interrupt your dinner,” she said solemnly while letting herself in past him.  

"Not at all,” he assured her, closing the door. “You don’t have to be home?” 

She threw her things on the floor and plopped down on the bed. “I don’t have to _be_ anywhere, counselor.” 

“Have you been drinking?” 

“I had two glasses of wine. I’m fine.”  

He sat at the desk chair, not sure how close she wanted him to get to her. 

“Charlotte, what happened today?” 

She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I’d gone over the questions in my head over and over again and I was planning to have them go through the entire story on the stand. I knew I had to ask about it but I couldn’t. I just…dismissed her. I couldn’t…ask her for details.” 

Rafael nodded. “This isn’t the first rape case you’ve tried.” 

“No, it’s not, but I can usually get through the questions pretty smoothly; especially if I’m in trial. It’s like I can focus right on the moment and not let my mind go anywhere else. But today…” she shook her head.  

“Because I was there,” he said out loud, surprised he’d said what he was thinking.  She looked at him, realization dawning on her.  

“Yeah, I think that was it. It was too close to home maybe.” 

“Maybe you shouldn't be on this case.” This time he wasn't so sure he should have said what he was thinking.  

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that what you think?” 

“No, no,” he put his hands up defensively, “that's not what I said.” 

“But it's what you think.” 

“I never said that.” 

“You don't need to.” 

“That's not what I think.” 

“You said it without saying it.” 

"I didn't say anything like that. I just asked if…” 

“You suggested it.” 

“Fine, I suggested it.” 

“So you think I can't handle it.” 

“Charlotte…” 

“Do you have any idea what I've had to do to make it this far?” 

“Oh and you think I just waltzed into the Manhattan DA’s office and he handed me a job?” 

“You're a guy!” 

“You're a rich girl!” 

“That doesn't make them the same!” 

“Makes it better!” 

“So you came here tonight make me tell you that you shouldn't be on this case?” 

“I have no fucking doubt I can try this case and win.” 

“So you came here to piss me off so I'd quit the case?” 

“No, Rafael, I came here tonight because you're the person I want to come home too.” 

She was now on the edge of the bed and he was leaning forward in his chair. Their angered breath was hot on each other's faces. Her eyes gently filled when she realized what she'd said. She dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her forehead as if she was in pain. 

“I should go,” she said, motioning to get up.  

“No,” he grabbed her wrist, “please stay.” 

“I should go home.” 

“I should be your home.” 

She closed her eyes, unable to turn and look at him. She felt his hand around her skin, the slight shake at the end of his voice, the feeling of belonging here with him. Her eyes opened to the sight of the closed door that led away from him. All she had to do was slightly tug herself free and he would let her leave, let her go home to someone else, knowing he was powerless to prevent her from breaking his heart. But hers was already laying in pieces on the floor. 

She closed her eyes again and spun around into his chest where he brought his arms around her, pulling her close: his lips pressed to her forehead and her hands splayed across the crispness of his shirt.  


	8. Chapter 15

“Can you tell me about October 31st, Miss Velasquez.” Charlotte stood next to the prosecution table, hands clasped behind her back. Her hair was curled into gentle waves, pinned back behind her head save for some that cascaded down her navy blazer. Underneath was a crisp white dress with a thin, mustard yellow belt around the middle. He smiled at her matching yellow heels which had a coating of red on the underside. 

The witness began to tell her recollection of the events on Halloween years before. She’d left her house as a young trick-or-treater but ended up in the hands of Johnny D by the end of the night. Rafael sat with his forearms on the edge of the table, his golden pen twirling between his fingers, poised over his legal pad with thoughts and quotes scribbled down. He tried to remember which socks he’d chosen today. Polka-dot perhaps? He glanced down to find out. His suit was a chocolate brown, a red tie wrapped around his neck. His torso was covered in a white and maroon straight-point, French collar shirt, and matching chocolate vest with maroon silk. He could feel the weight of her cufflinks around his wrists. 

The click of her heel interrupted him from his reverie. 

“And at what point were you introduced to the defendant?” Charlotte paced in front of the prosecution’s table which was on the side closer to the witness stand. She crossed one leg over the other, slowly making her way to the end of the jury box. He smiled to himself, knowing what her game was. If she stood down from the jury, the witness would look like they were looking at the jury members which would create sympathy in them. He had to look down to hide his pride. Watching her move in front of the table he could see each leg pass to the left of the other. Rafael’s eyes locked there and his mind traveled back to last night. 

Sitting back, pen still in hand, he could see her heels passing by one another under the table. Squinting, he thought he could just make the red marks on her ankles where he’d held them in place hanging off the bed with his head shoved between her legs. 

“Objection, Your Honor, speculation.” 

“Your Honor, I’m asking her to testify to what she heard Mr. Drake…” 

“But Miss Velasquez is saying what Mr. Drake might have thought and not what he directly said to her.” 

The judge put up a hand. “I’m going to sustain the objection. Mrs. Denbeigh, ask another way.” 

She nodded at the judge. “Miss Velasquez, did Mr. Drake say what his intentions were when you arrived at this house?” 

The witness was clearly uncomfortable and trying very hard not to look at Johnny D who was staring her down in case she looked over. Luckily Charlotte’s positioning in the courtroom also prevented this from mistakenly happening. 

“He didn’t say directly, but he just kept saying that if I didn’t shut up and do what he said that he was going to kill me and no one would miss me.” 

“And what happened once you got to the house and were inside?” Charlotte leaned against the wooden divider to the jury box.  

Rafael’s eyes on her back, he recreated slipping his hands around her burning skin, dropping her bra. His eyes inconspicuously traveled down her back, thinking of the pink marks that were probably stained on her ass from slapping her. 

“Your Honor, again, speculation.” 

“Overruled counselor,” the judge snapped back. 

“Please continue Miss Velasquez,” Charlotte instructed, pointing her hand to the witness to indicate for her to continue her testimony. 

“So then the guy comes in the room and he smells like weed and beer. He starts to take off his pants and I start screaming. The guy who was holding my right arm slapped me and told me to shut up.” 

Charlotte took a step back and settled herself against the edge of the prosecution table. She put her hands on either side of her, gripping the table edges, and crossed her ankles. Regardless of having prepped this witness and heard this testimony quite a few times, she still put on a face of sadness and disgust for the jury to let them know they should be horrified. If she showed genuine belief, maybe they would too. 

Rafael took a deep breath and tried to look forward at the witness but his eyes rested on Charlotte’s wrists which had a watch on one and a diamond tennis bracelet on the other. There were red marks there, subtle, but there. Hours ago her wrists were intertwined in his fingers as he held them above her head as she whined and begged to touch him. He could still hear his name being pulled from her lips which were pursed at the moment. He remembered them parted, hungry, dry with exasperation, only wet when his were on them. 

Her stern voice interrupted him again. “Miss Velasquez I’m going to show you a couple pictures of the injuries taken at the hospital the night that you reported your rape to the police. Can the court please show the witness exhibits marked P22 through P29?” 

Charlotte turned around to the table and sifted through a folder to find the pictures. Rafael quickly jumped to help, knowing he should have been following along and had them ready for her when she was getting to the question about the most recent rape. 

“Does the defense have the exhibits?” the judge asked. 

“The court’s indulgence,” Johnny D’s attorney asked, standing and confirming the exhibits with Charlotte. 

Rafael’s eyes met hers as she turned back to questioning the witness. He had to try not to drag his eyes down her body as she walked. 

Her hair wasn’t this neat when she was on top of him, his hands on her hips, moving her body up and down. She’d smartly asked if they should probably be going over questions for the next day. He’d responded by growling and pushing his hips up into her which caused her to fall forward, catching her fall by throwing her arms on either side of him. Her hair fell in his face before she whipped it to one side. It had smelled like her familiar perfume, sandalwood, and sweat. 

She was standing in the middle of the courtroom. “And did he listen when you said no?” she asked looking down with one hand on her hip and the other clutching a folder. 

“No! He continued to rape me and he knew I wanted him to stop but sick people don’t stop.” 

“Inflammatory, Your Honor,” opposing counsel shot forward. 

“The jury will disregard the previous statement made by the witness.” 

Rafael put his elbows on either side of his chair, clasping his hands together, resting his lips against them. Inhaling slightly, he could smell the subtle scent of her still on his fingers and he closed his eyes for a moment before also crossing his legs. 

“Thank you, Miss Velasquez,” Charlotte said gently, returning to her seat next to him. Her perfume ensnared his senses. He quickly dropped his hands and sat forward as the court was dismissed for lunch. They rose to their feet as the judge did and he was lucky he’d been able to bring down his slight erection before then. The judge and jury left the courtroom and Charlotte spun to Rafael. 

“What’s with you?” 

“What?” 

“You going to be ready for cross or am I doing this case myself?” 

“I’m co-counsel, remember?” he spat back, making quotes with his fingers in the air.  

She dropped her head and looked up at him doubtfully. 

“You’ve never been co-anything in your life, Rafael.” 

Heat shot through his body hearing her say his name. He didn’t hear anything she said during lunch. He answered emails and calls to keep himself busy and his mind focused on the day. But it wasn’t working as he’d planned. 

Court was back in session and the witness was reminded she was still under oath. Mr. Kalafat sat back in his chair after good-afternoon-pleasantries were exchanged. 

“Miss Velasquez were you dating anyone at the time?” 

“Uh, yes, I had a boyfriend.” 

“Did this boyfriend know Mr. Drake?” 

“Yes he did.” 

“Were they related?” 

“Yes, they were cousins.” 

Mr. Kalafat insinuated that because Miss Velasquez’s boyfriend at the time was related to Johnny D that she knew she was getting into prostitution and entered in the ring willingly to earn money. Charlotte sat back with her legs crossed, elbows on the armrests. She was gently chewing on her right hand’s thumb nail while watching the witness carefully. Rafael glanced down at his notes, trying to focus on the points they'd agreed they thought the defense attorney was going to hit. He needed to be prepping for a redirection. 

 Charlotte was playing with her heel, slipping it on and off. She readjusted herself, uncrossing her legs and re-crossing with the other one. Suddenly she grimaced, ceased motion and had to use her hand to pull her leg onto the other. Rafael sat motionless save for his eyes which traveled up to hers. She glanced sideways at him and adjusted her jaw in annoyance. 

She was sore.  

He crossed his legs, trying desperately to keep his mind present but the image of him buried inside her as she’d fallen forward in pleasure conjured in his mind. He'd reached between them and upturned his hand so he could fuck her and play with her at the same time. Finding her swollen and soaked he worked his fingers furiously against her as her hips ground against his body. She came to him violently, never prepared for what he could demand from her. As she sat next to him now, professional, in control, she was lost to him the moment he touched her. 

“And you’re telling me you had no idea what that man was in the room for?!” Kalafat argued, effectively making Miss Velasquez begin to cry. 

Charlotte was on her feet. “Badgering!” 

The judge lowered his eyes at Kalafat. “Sustained. Watch it, counselor.” 

“And all the times you were in that house alone or out and you never called the police? Never attempted to get help?” 

“I was scared.” 

“You were scared. Okay, but if you were being forced into prostitution, wouldn't it be safer to say that you would be more scared inside the house than outside?” 

“Yes?” Miss Velasquez answered through tears. Charlotte’s face was furious.  

“If you were more scared to call the police wouldn't that indicate that you knew you were doing something wrong?” 

“Your Honor,” Rafael was on his feet, “I'd like to object to this entire line of questioning. The witness is clearly upset. She's not the one on trial here. She's the victim of rape and the defense seems to think the way to treat a victim is to question if they are one.” 

Mr. Kalafat looked amused. “I'm just trying to prove that this woman knew exactly what she was getting in to.” 

Barba turned to Kalafat. “Yeah and what she was getting into was a sex trafficking ring headed by your client!” Charlotte stood and put her hands on Rafael’s shoulders. 

“Counselors! Chambers! Now!” The judge was fuming. Barba gathered his golden pen and portfolio and nodded at the witness. They followed the defense attorney into chambers.  

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to cause a mistrial?” Charlotte was just as angry.  

Rafael just shook his head. He had no idea where his objection came from. It was completely spontaneous, almost instinctual: like driving on autopilot.  

Judge Thomilson sat back on her desk as the counselors gathered around her.  

“I see Mr. Barba is trying to force a mistrial,” Kalafat started. The judge quickly put up her hand to stop him from speaking.  

She sighed. “Mr. Kalafat I'm tempted to go through your cross examination. I see where you're trying to go but you need to tread lightly here. Just because you establish that the witness was willingly engaged in prostitution has nothing to do with this case.” 

“But it does, Your Honor. My client is accused of sex trafficking, not being a pimp.” 

Barba couldn't help himself. “He's not a pimp because these women were forced to work for him.” 

“Mr. Barba, watch yourself,” the judge warned. “I'll allow the line of questioning. But Mr. Kalafat if I think you're badgering this witness for a moment, you'll be held in contempt.” 

“Understood, ma'am.” 

Barba could feel steam coming out of his ears. “Your Honor, could we have a short recess to confer with our witness?” 

“No, Mr. Barba, cross examination will proceed.” The judge motioned for them all to leave. 

He wanted to prepare the witness for the angle the defense was taking but it looked as though they weren't going to have that chance.  

The court back in session, he remained on the edge of his seat, trying to ignore Charlotte’s perfume and the feel of her next to him. They were both careful not to object unless necessary, giving the defense room to hang themselves. He needed to get his head in the game for redirection. The funny thing was that his head didn’t need to be completely in the game: his heart did. 

“Would the prosecution like to redirect?” 

“Yes, Your Honor.” 

Barba stood as Charlotte moved in her seat, on edge.  

“Miss Velasquez I know you have been on the stand for quite some time and this has been a very difficult day for you so I will keep this redirection short.” The witness smiled sweetly and nodded. “Mr. Kalafat is alleging that you willingly entered into a prostitution business where you knew you would be having sex in exchange for payment. Is that true?” 

The witness shook her head. “No, absolutely not. I had no idea.” 

Barba moved towards the jury box, concern etched in the lines on his face. 

“Isn’t it true, Miss Velasquez, that you were a virgin when you were taken by Mr. Drake?” 

“Objection, relevance, Your Honor.” 

“Overruled,” the judge said quickly, turning to the witness with curiosity. 

She bowed her head. “Yes, yes I was a virgin. I come from a Roman Catholic family where I was saving myself for marriage. I would never give myself to someone I did not love. Especially not for money! I never wanted to have sex with any of the men I was forced to have sex with.” 

“Were you ever given any monetary compensation for any of the sexual acts you performed?” 

“No, never.” 

“Miss Velasquez I have just one more question.” Barba approached the side of the witness stand closest to the jury box and leaned against it. “To the best of your knowledge, was Mr. Drake the leader of an organization that kidnapped women and forced them into sex slavery?” 

“Speculation!” 

Barba was ready. “I’m asking about what the witness knew.” 

“Overruled.” 

She looked up sadly at Barba. “He told me I would never see my family again. He told me I would work for him until he was done with me. He gave all the orders and all the directions. I was raped whenever he said.” 

“Thank you, Miss Velasquez.” Barba swaggered back to the prosecution table, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and took his seat. He felt Charlotte’s hand gently squeeze his leg as if to say “well done.” He took a drink from the water provided but wished secretly it was scotch. 

The courtroom rose to their feet as the judge excused the jury and adjourned them for the day. 

Charlotte turned to him as they gathered their things. 

“How about a drink?” 

He smiled smugly, proud of the way the day had turned out.  

“Are you going to say I'm paying and then pay for me again because that would be great.” 

She laughed at the memory.  

“I was trying to help.” 

“I didn't need your help.” 

“Your sweater you were wearing that day was from 1776.” 

“That was a good year.” 

“Yeah your outfit would know.” 

“There's a nice bar at my hotel.” 

“My car will take us.” 

“Lead the way, counselor,” he said holding the gate open for her. They glanced at Kalafat and Johnny D as he was taken back into custody with a frown. 

“Mrs. Denbeigh,” Kalafat’s slimy voice echoed behind them, “do you have a moment?” 

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. 

“For pleas? No, no I don’t.” 

“Hear me out counselor,” he said with a smirk. 

“Thank you but no thank you,” Charlotte passed through the gate as Rafael shut it behind him. 

“I hope your husband is feeling better.” 

“Excuse me?” Charlotte paused. 

“He was sick this week when I was in court with him. And I just wanted to see how he was doing.” 

Rafael’s fists curled. 

“I suggest you don’t make this harder on yourself counselor,” Rafael said, controlling his tone. 

“I can't just ask about someone? Look my client obviously has a ton of witnesses who have all corroborated their story against him which is unfair and so to deal with that unfairness I feel like bringing this down to pimping and pandering would be adequate.” 

“Misdemeanors counselor? You can't be serious,” Charlotte rolled her eyes at him.  

“That way if we keep it in the district maybe your husband can try the case: when he's feeling better of course.” 

Rafael gripped his briefcase like it was the attorney’s neck and leaned in towards him. 

“I suggest you take your fucked up client and your fucked up sense of humor and fuck off.” Charlotte put her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll see you in court.” 

Barba put his hand on her back and pressed her down the isle. They broke through the doors into the hallway. He didn't want to take his hand from her. He felt like as long as he was behind her he could keep her safe; as long as he had her within reach nothing could hurt them.  

He indicated a seat at the bar for her which was appropriately named “Off the Record.” Two glasses of Lune et Soleil Sauvignon Blanc 2013 were quickly set front of them and a toast was in order. 

“Did you ever think,” Rafael asked twirling his wine, “that we would be working on a case together?” 

“Here's the funny thing,” she said taking another sip, “I absolutely thought we would. From the day I reviewed case notes with you in Langdell Hall I always knew we'd work cases together.” Her face fell a bit and she put on a fake smile. “I just thought it would be sooner.” 

“Yeah but the sex is better now.” 

Her face flushed and she palmed her head. “Rafael…” 

“We should have sex in the pool house again.” 

“I'm trying to talk to you about our case and all you can talk about is sex.” 

“It's your fault.” 

“I'm not the one who couldn't keep his head on straight in court today.” 

He raised his glass to his face.  

“You're lucky I _couldn't_ keep anything straight today with your ass in front of me.” 

“This is why we never worked together.” 

“I think it was a blessing in disguise.” 

“Charlotte?” 

Charlotte almost dropped her glass and the blood drained from her face. The voice wasn't Rafael’s. But she knew whose it was. She spun around on her barstool. 

David.  

“Honey! So good to see you!” She got up and kissed him, pulling the handsome man over to Barba. “David this is Rafael Barba, the ADA from Manhattan who is helping me prosecute the case.” 

“Ah yes, Mr. Barba, how do you do?” David asked, shaking his hand firmly. Rafael was always annoyed at his height different with men. 

“Judge Denbeigh, sir, it's an honor,” Rafael said respectfully. “Can I buy you a drink, sir?” 

“I'm fine, thank you Mr. Barba.” 

“What are you doing here, dear?” Charlotte asked sitting back down and taking up her wine again.  

“Got out of a dinner with some friends and I remembered you said you were dropping Mr. Barba off at the hotel and figured you'd be here celebrating your first day which I'm sure went well.” 

“It did. Surprisingly, Rafael seems to know his way around a courtroom.” 

Rafael’s phone buzzed. 

“I'm so sorry,” he said excusing himself, “it's Olivia.” 

Charlotte waved him on. “Of course.” 

He turned away from the pair though he could hear them continue talking.  

“Hello, Liv?” 

“Hi Barba. I hate being back in New York and not there to see the trial but I just couldn't leave Noah alone for that long.” 

“Yeah, no, I understand.” 

“How's everything going so far?” 

“So far so good. The attorney’s a prick but Charlotte has the case handled.” 

“You two are okay?”  

“Oh yeah, we're fine.” 

“Alright well keep me updated okay?” 

“I promise. You just worry about Noah. I've got things handled down here.” 

“Thank you Rafael.” 

He hung up and turned back to a lone-Charlotte. He checked around, expecting David and her to be arguing. Instead she was asking for another glass of wine.  

“Where is he?” 

“Gone.” 

“Gone?” 

“Gone.” 

“Gone where?” 

“I don't give a fuck, Rafael, why do you?” 

There were a million reasons he could give but he stayed silent. She was angry suddenly.  

“What did he say?” he asked carefully.  

“Wanted to know when I was coming home.” 

Rafael swirled his wine, something growing in the pit of his stomach. 

“What did you tell him?” 

Charlotte stared at the alcohol bottles lining the bar wall.  

“I said none of his fucking business.” 

Something primal rose in him.  

“Let's go.” 

“Go?” 

“Go.” 

“Go where?” 

“Now you're my fucking business.” 


	9. Chapter 16

“Sit down,” he ordered. 

“Hey!” 

“Sit,” he said again, indicating the bed in his hotel room, completely serious. Flames licked his eyes. 

“Raise your right hand.” 

“What?!” 

“Do it,” he ordered again with reserved force. She complied, giving him a scrutinizing look. 

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” 

“Why are you…?” 

“Do you swear?” She didn’t know where he was going with this, but his eyes and her alcohol told her to play along. 

“I swear.” 

He took off his suit jacket and hung it around the back of the desk chair. “Please state your name for the record.” 

She gave him a questioning look but he turned to face her with a sincere façade. “AUSA Charlotte Denbeigh.” 

He shook his head and paced to the other side of the room. “No, the name you were born with.” 

She hesitated momentarily, not used to her old name. “Charlotte Huntington.” 

Rafael squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. “Have you ever been in love, Miss Huntington?” 

“What kind of question is…?” 

“Answer the question, Miss Huntington. There is no fifth here.” 

She breathed out heavily. “Yes, Rafael, I have.” 

“You will address your counsel by name.” 

She stared at him for a moment, turning her head to the side as if to ask if he was serious. He simply cocked his eyebrow. Her face flushed a bit. 

“Yes…Mr. Barba.” 

He nodded, not letting her see his senses ignite. 

“Have you ever dreamt about what we could have been?” 

“I don’t…” 

“Miss Huntington,” he stated calmly, correcting her. 

She sighed again, tightening her mouth. “Yes.” He raised his eyebrow again. “Yes, Mr. Barba.” The side of his mouth curled into a sickening smile. 

“Do you ever think about the things I can do to you?” 

“I…” 

“And remember,” he paused from pacing, “you’re under oath.” 

Her face grew red. “Yes…um,” she closed her eyes, “Mr. Barba.” 

He took off his vest and hung it over the chair before standing directly in front of her, his breathing shallowed. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” 

“Rafael!” 

“You will address your counsel by name!” he screamed, frightening her, taking a step forward. 

She peered up at him darkly, nostrils flared. Something in her wanted him to stop because she knew how she was going to answer but she was scared with how far she’d go. 

“Yes! Mr. Barba.” This time, for some reason, his name ordered from her lips caused her body to respond and she could feel the heat of wetness between her legs. 

He went over and got the desk chair and put it directly in front of her, just shy of their knees touching. He loosened his tie before throwing it on the desk and sat facing her. His end-of-the-day cologne reached her nose and made her mouth water for him. 

His voice lowered. “Do you say my name when you come?” 

She let her mouth fall open at his audacious question but he waited, sternly, for her answer. She drew in a breath to answer but knew that the one word followed by his name was going to make her wetter and she almost didn’t want him to have the satisfaction. 

“Yes...” she had to close her eyes, “Mr. Barba.” 

“Do you imagine my tongue playing with you?” 

 “Yes, Mr. Barba.” 

“Do you imagine my fingers fucking you?” 

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Barba.” 

He slid closer, trying to hide his growing erection. “Do you imagine me sliding into you?” 

“Yes, Raf…um, Mr. Barba.” 

She closed her legs tightly together.  

“Am I making you wet, Miss Huntington?” 

“Uhhn,” she let out a sudden, unexpected moan at his suggestion, “Y…yes, Mr. Barba.” 

He moved closer still, until their knees were touching and he put his hands on either leg, spreading them apart so he could put his knees in between them. Her hands stayed in her lap. 

“Do you think about me when your husband’s fucking you?” 

She closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath, grimacing at him. “Yes, Mr. Barba.” 

“Do I make you come harder than he ever has?” 

“Yes, Mr. Barba.” 

“Will you come for me tonight?” 

She swallowed hard. “Yes, Mr. Barba.” 

He started taking off his belt without taking his eyes off of her. “I have one more question before I fuck you.” Her breath caught in her throat as the wetness between her legs became almost embarrassing. “Do you love me?” 

Her mouth dropped slightly and she felt like it should have taken more time for her to answer. But she didn’t even need to think twice. 

“Yes, Mr. Barba, I do.” 

At the last word his lips were on hers and even though she wasn't expecting it, her body was. His mouth was furious and his hand threaded through the back of her hair, tipping her head back so he could shove his tongue down her throat, groaning into her mouth. Her fingers had his shirt off and he quickly slipped hers over her head.  

She felt his hands trembling on her bare legs below her skirt hem. He was trying to keep them there, trying to wait but he couldn’t and without warning he moved them up her skirt. She was embarrassed at how wet he’d made her just by having to say his name so she tried to close her legs and block him with her hands. But he was too quick and deftly moved her lace to the side. She could audibly hear his fingers become soaked in her. 

Even with his mouth still on hers she could feel him smile sickeningly. 

“Is this for me?” he asked, dipping his fingers further, swirling them around as she twitched and moaned into his mouth. 

“Yesss,” she breathed. 

“Yes, what?” 

“Please,” she tried. 

“Try again,” he said darkly, forcing a finger inside of her. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Barba,” she implored, her reward being a second finger, stretching her more. 

Her hands blundered with the clasps of his pants, not even aware she was working them off of him, just knowing that she needed all of him in that moment. 

“In a rush are we, Miss Huntington?” 

“Please, Rafael,” she begged, unconsciously spreading her legs for him. 

“You’re not listening to me,” he said ominously, suddenly pulling out his fingers and dropping to his knees, pushing up her skirt and ripping her underwear down her legs. With one hand he pushed her back and forced his head between her thighs, sinking his tongue between her swollen lips. Her hips bucked upwards in response as she cried out in defenseless protest. 

“Ah, fuck! I’m sorry Mr. Barba,” she tried again, but to no avail. Rafael ignored her and pressed his tongue into her, creating more pressure until her legs shook on either side of him. She wound her fingers in his hair, angry at him for making her wait which only made her madder and wetter and more furious. 

“Rafael, please,” she whined. 

He stopped suddenly and brought his face to hers, crawling on top of her. His mouth was glistening, soaked, and to top it off he licked his lips before he spoke. 

“Don’t make me treat you as a hostile witness. There’s a punishment for that.” 

She was almost scared of him but at this point she would do anything to have him inside her and took her chances. 

“What’s my punishment, Mr. Barba?” she asked between struggling breaths. 

He lifted his chin in anger at her defiance. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t get up from the stand.” 

Charlotte bit her lip and smiled wickedly. “With _this_ , Rafael?” She reached between them and grasped his desperate erection. 

He drew in a sharp breath and almost collapsed on her from shock and sensitivity. She didn’t expect to find him as completely rock hard as she did and it made her let go in surprise. It didn’t stop her body from responding with even more desperation for him. 

“Get up!” he ordered. She pushed up to her elbows and he furiously ripped off the rest of her clothes as she scooted backwards on the bed, kicking her skirt off. He crawled back over top of her as she helped him shed his suit slacks, his mouth finding hers as he was hungry for her again. She used her feet and fingers to push down his boxers, his erection springing free and instinctively she took hold of it, reflexively stroking upwards. 

His mouth fell open and he dipped his head to her shoulder, his body trembling in pleasure. He swore at her for her lack of warning and bit gently into her shoulder as she kissed his neck and moved her hand in a twisting motion, up and down, using his natural lubrication as needed. He could feel her slowly pulling him closer to her, wanting him inside her, and he wanted to make her suffer, make her wait but he had suffered enough since he’d first heard her say his name tonight.  

“Come on, please,” she begged him, raising her hips, touching the tip of his erection to her entrance, teasing them both.  

He was growling at the sound of her desperation and the sensitivity of her teasing him. He raised his head and his eyes grew darker. He opened his mouth to protest but she caught on in exasperation.  

“I give up, I give up, Mr. Barba, counselor, sir, doctor of law, please, I'll do anything you want. I'm yours Rafael, I’m yours.” 

She gave in to him, reduced to accepting his torture, and he knew he had her. From the time she left his living room twenty years ago, the night at the pool house, the polo games, the Oxford shoes, mock trials, kisses after drinks, the question about if he had finished his paper, she was his. 

The tip of his cock at her entrance, he pushed himself into her.  

Her head shot back in pain and pleasure.  

His head dipped again to her shoulder in effort.  

Her body complained of his size.  

His body reached deeper into her in need.  

Her hands flew to his hips to stop him from going further.  

His hands ripped at the bedsheets from her tight pressure. 

Small drops of tears formed in her eyes. 

Small drops of sweat formed on his forehead.  

“Rafael, please, too much, I can't,” she pleaded, pushing back on his hips.  

“I know baby, I know,” he implored, pausing his movement.  

He slowly pulled back out.  

She took a deep breath in. 

Hands on his chest.  

Tip in her body.  

Push again.  

Pressure. Pain. Pleasure. Repeat. 

“Too much, Rafael.” 

“Trust me, trust me.” 

Out. In. Pressure. Pain. Pleasure. Repeat.  

Out. In. Pressure. Pleasure. 

Back. Forward. Pleasure. Yes. Pleasure. More pleasure. Again. Yes. More. More.  

Her body stretched for him. He felt himself fit her, fill her perfectly. She spread her legs more, bringing him in. Pain turned to pleasure, pressure turned to intensity. They moved together, worked together, felt together, fought together. 

His mind lost itself in her body, remembering the first time she’d gone after him when he was upset, kissing her against the bricks, her lips felt the same in between his now. Her hand squeezing his when she was in pain on the field, when she'd trusted him above all with her body, and then again when she'd led him into the bedroom at the pool house, his desire for her only ever growing since that night. When she'd chosen his comfort on the worst night of her life, trusted him, found him, gripped his arms, pressed her skin against his. It was all in her eyes when he looked into them now: all the pain, all the trust, all the betrayal, and all the love she could give. 

He felt it all at once again. Every moment he'd missed her and pushed the pain down, every person he'd kissed and fucked and pretended to trust. Pretended. So much pretending. So much he'd tried to hide. It was why he hid: behind laws and clothes and anger, behind clients and Olivia and his past.  

He realized in that moment that she wasn't the one who had surrendered to him; he'd finally surrendered to her. 

And he wanted nothing in his life more then to give her everything she'd given him. 

“Come for me,” he beseeched her, “you gave me your word.” 

“Mr. Barba,” she begged of him. 

He buried his lips in her neck as he fucked her. “You're still under oath.” 

She moved her hips to slow him. “I have one more question before I come.” 

“Please Charlotte,” he appealed to her.  

“Do you love me?” 

His eyes met hers. Their dark, hungry blackness flashed to their deep, wild green. 

“Charlotte,” his body begged against her.  

“Rafael,” her hands on his face, small tears forming.  

In his eyes their lives worked backwards again, marriage, court, hotels, colleges, twenty years apart, another lifetime when they were together. 

“Always,” he answered breathlessly, “I've always loved you.” 

At his words her body rose for him, her lips pressed to his, her legs wrapped around him, pulling him into her. Rafael’s body reflexively reached for her, into her. Her fingers dragged down his back as he felt her body brace against him, writhe under him. He pushed down with as much pressure as he could, knowing her too well, grinding into her, and wanting nothing more in that moment than selfish recognition of what he could give her.  

He got the satisfaction seconds later when her nails dug into his strained muscles, his first name successfully commanded from her lips as pleasure wracked her body. Her sounds, movements, release, gave him everything he needed and he buried himself in her as deep as he could, taking advantage of her contractions around him, giving himself to her in complete surrender. Her name was automatic between his cries, praised as he lost himself to her, in her, for her.  

“Oh god, Rafael,” she repeated as she came down, her muscles trying to relax as she attempted deep breaths. She put her fingers in his sweaty hair which was next to hers, his face buried in the notch above her shoulder. She took an extra deep breath and her body contracted in response. Still inside her and more sensitive than imaginable, Rafael inhaled sharply, swearing at the intensity of the sensations. She apologized up and down, trying to stay still for him while also trying to catch her breath.  

“I know, I know, it's alright,” he assured her. “I just…” he exhaled deeply and used his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead, “need a moment.” 

“It's fine, it's fine, really, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.” 

He chuckled lightly at her sincerity. He brought up his other hand to stroke her hair while she closed her eyes, feeling his hot skin and exaggerated breath on her face. 

“You alright?” he asked quietly, watching her micro expressions. 

She smirked slyly and opened one eye.  

“Yes, Mr. Barba.” 


	10. Chapter 17

The courthouse was packed. Barba was sweating. Closing statements had been a blur. The judge took the bench. He rose when Charlotte did. Johnny D stood. The jury foreperson stood. The hair on his arms stood, the back of his neck stood, and he could feel Olivia’s whole body standing behind him. 

The judge said something about involuntary servitude.  

Charlotte’s head bowed and then she looked at the jury box. He watched in slow motion as a couple soft strands of hair escaped over her shoulder as she turned her head. 

“We the jury, in the above entitled action, find the defendant, Jonathan  Drake, guilty.” 

Charlotte's hand curled into a fist as she pushed her knuckles into the table. 

Peonage. Guilty.  

Barba put his hand on her upper back.  

Forced labor. Guilty.  

He couldn't wipe the smile from his face. He turned around slightly to see Olivia’s eyes prick with tears.  

Sex trafficking. Guilty. 

Charlotte's fist hammered into the table. She spun and pulled Rafael into a tight embrace. Her voice choked slightly.  

“Thank you,” she whispered. He didn't have time to reply before she broke away from him. 

“Jonathan Drake you have been found guilty…” The judge’s voice faded away. The present courtroom faded away.  

_Books and papers flew everywhere. Rafael immediately began apologizing. He really hadn’t seen her turning the corner._  

_“Let me…”_  

_“Just stop, stop.” Her voice was angered, frustrated. He knew her from class but she looked different. Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy knot, her make up wasn’t fresh and her eyes were puffy. This was unlike her._  

_“I didn’t…”_  

_“It’s fine,” but he knew it wasn’t. She gathered her belongings from the floor and turned to go. Rafael’s shy nature around people like her for some reason switched off. The feeling in his gut was that something was wrong._  

_“Um, wait,” she didn’t hear him. “Wait!” She turned, annoyed._  

_“Look, forget it, I have to…”_  

_“Can I just get you coffee? You look like shit.”_  

The sound of the gavel brought him back to reality. In another life it seemed, he had mock trial and polo matches and meeting his father and walks on the beach to replay in his mind. He would go back before she ever left his sight the night she was raped. This moment, this verdict took him back in time to that day. After twenty years, he'd been able to give her something. He could feel her heart proudly pounding next to him. This is where they had been meant to be all along: next to each other at the prosecution’s table. 

He awoke again from his reverie to find Charlotte wrapped in Olivia's arms. Barba was next. He got another couple “thank yous” from her as they watched J hnng D moved hey watched ntte along ingrlaohnny D be escorted away in metal cuffs. He could feel Olivia's relief, knowing her son was safe. 

“Barba,” she said gently, wearily, “let's go home.” 

He smiled at her, knowing what she meant. And he wanted to; he wanted to go back to Manhattan and get back to work but he would be leaving without someone this time. And he didn't know how he was going to face that.  

* * *

When his phone back at 1 Hogan Place rang while he was shoveling lunch down his throat he almost didn’t look at the caller. But when he noticed the 202 area code he decided on the last ring to pick it up, swallowing quickly. 

“What the hell is this?” he heard on the other line. He almost spit out some of his lunch as he began laughing. He could see her now, feet up on her desk, door closed as if she was doing actual important work. No, no her door wouldn’t even be closed. She wouldn’t care if people thought she wasn’t working at all. 

“So you got it,” he said leaning back himself. 

“I don’t know what I got.” 

“Just say you’ll go.” 

“And be your patsy for the evening? I don’t think so.” 

“Come on I hate showing up alone.” 

“Hire an escort, I won’t report you. I’m sure Drake still has some decent ones out there somewhere.” 

“I’ll pay you.” 

“You can’t afford me.” 

“Free dinner.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Please?” 

Charlotte sighed on the other line. Her invitation to be Barba’s escort to a gala for McCoy’s reelection was sitting on her keyboard. She had lost count on the number of galas she had been to for her husband but this time she would be going as a guest. She didn’t want to go because of the political atmosphere but at the same time, she reveled in an excuse to go to Manhattan. 

“Do you have a tux?” 

“Tailored.” 

“I’ll go,” she said reluctantly, “under one condition.” 

“Name it.” 

“I want to watch you in court.” 

“What?” 

“Let me know when you’ll be in court, I want to go.” 

“Why?” 

“I just do.” 

“Is that some sort of lawyer-kink?” 

“No, I…,” she said laughing at herself, realizing what she’d asked for. Suddenly her face dropped, “No we just never got to spend time with each other doing the thing we both love so I figured why not take advantage when we have the chance?” She could hear him realizing what she was saying through the phone. 

“Deal.” 

* * *

It had been a while since Charlotte had spun around in an evening gown. Alighting from the car, the greeter took her hand, helping her onto the sidewalk. She stepped out in a pair of nude heels as she used her other hand to hold up her Paolo Sebastian dark navy blue gown: cashmere, high collar, slit down the front from the neck to the waist line, beaded detailing around the sleeve cuffs and front opening. Her hair was pulled back and up into a gentle gathering of pinned curls. The doorman led her carefully up a flight of stairs. Her heart was pounding for some unknown reason. She was concentrating on watching her step but when she took a moment to look up, Rafael was standing in his black tuxedo, his left hand behind his back and a soft smile. She felt her cheeks give way to a tender blush. The doorman handed her off to him at the top of the stairs. 

“You,” Rafael said low, taking her hand and bringing her close to him to place a lingering kiss on her cheek, “look absolutely stunning.” Her blush grew.  

“You clean up nicely yourself. Mr. Barba.” She smiled darkly, watching him swallow hard and close his eyes for a moment with understanding. 

“Shall we?” he asked, pulling them from their wandering thoughts. They passed through the crowd at the front and into the hall which was a large reception room. Tables were set out for the sit-down dinner that would follow. 

“Welcome, sir,” they were greeted as they entered the hall. “Your name?” 

“Rafael Barba,” he answered politely. She looked around at the throng of elegant women hanging off their husbands’ arms. How many times she had been one of them. She'd lost count. This felt so different. Every event before this one she had to fake it. She pretended to be supportive, laugh at his jokes and every one else's, kiss him when it was warranted, escort him places when he'd had too much to drink, watch him flirt with other women right in front of her. David always made her feel so small and insignificant next to him. But walking up those stairs just moments ago she saw what she had waited her entire life to see; when Rafael looked at her there was no one else in the room. He wasn't thinking about who he needed to impress, who else mattered more than her, who else could get him higher up the social ladder and how she could help him do it. He only saw her for exactly who she was and every time he looked at her she knew she was just enough.  

After checking in, he guided her into the room where a small band was playing for the h’ordeuvre hour before dinner. The round tables surrounded a wooden dance floor where people were standing and talking instead of dancing. Servers were walking around with trays of delicious food and champagne was flowing. She put her hand on his chest.  

“I'm going to go up to the bar and get us two glasses of champagne.” 

He furrowed his brow.  

“But they're walking around with glasses…” 

“It's okay,” she said cheerfully, “I'll get them.” 

Rafael nodded with a curious smile. Charlotte patted his arm and turned from him towards the bar. He looked around, knowing he needed to make himself known to McCoy who he was here to support after all. He finally spotted some other coworkers from the district attorney's office and pushed his hands in his pockets as he made his way over.  

“Barba!” he heard being called from behind him. He turned to find Olivia. 

“Oh hi!” he said, embracing her. “I didn't expect to see you here.” 

“Yeah me either,” she said, obviously annoyed to be in a dress. “Commissioner Dodds wanted us to show our support and I got stuck being the lucky representative from the unit.” 

“Well you look amazing so he's very lucky.” 

Olivia smiled at the sincere compliment.  

“You're here alone?” 

“No, um,” Rafael looked around, “Charlotte's with me. Somewhere. She went to get drinks.” 

Olivia nodded slowly.  

“What?” Rafael asked. 

“You just…you see a lot of each other.” 

“Well, we go way back.” 

“Is that all?” Long ago Benson and Barba had done away with pleasantries and trying to walk on eggshells with the other person. They said what they saw and were honest. In fact, for both of them, they were one of the honest, healthiest relationships either of them had known in a long time. If ever.  

Barba sighed.  

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. Then he smiled at the thought. “I have no idea.” 

“That's not like you.” 

“What isn't? Me not knowing?” 

“Alright well don't get smart about it,” she teased, taking another sip of her champagne, “but yeah, you not having a plan and a question tree and a backup witness. Do you record all your conversations so there can be no hearsay? Wow, now that I think about it, your personal life must suck for other people.” 

He scowled at her as she laughed.  

“I don't think I'm that bad.” 

“Well let's find out.” Rafael turned to where Olivia was looking as Charlotte returned carrying two glasses of champagne with small slivers of strawberry in them.  

“Olivia! Good to see you!” Charlotte said happily, embracing her as well. Barba was aware that this wasn't Olivia’s first or second glass of wine but he also knew it was the only way she was surviving this charade.  

“So Char, I have to ask. What is he like outside of a courtroom? I mean if you're driving with him and you make a wrong turn does he object? Does he even know what a football game is?” 

Charlotte laughed out loud. 

“Well, he knows a little about polo,” she squinted as she eyed his amused face, “and I think he knows who the Mets are.” 

The two women stood next to each other, eying Rafael. He smiled and shook his head, crossing his arms as they teased him. Olivia tapped her on the arm.  

“Back at Harvard, what table did he sit with? Was he a nerd? Geek? Did he have glasses with tape in the middle? I'm not getting the jock feel.” 

“Hmm, yeah no, he was a teachers pet. Sometimes he even…” but Charlotte suddenly paused and her face turned white.  

“Charlotte,” Olivia said, sobering up quickly, “what is it?” 

“I…” she put her hand on her stomach, “I just feel sick suddenly.” Rafael's expression turned to concern  

“Sick?” 

“Yeah,” Charlotte's face grimaced, “like I'm going to be sick.” Olivia put her arm around her. 

“Have you eaten?” Charlotte shook her head. “Well that's why. You're drinking on an empty stomach. Come on, let's go to the restroom.” Olivia took Charlotte’s drink and handed it to Rafael as she led Charlotte away. He barely had time to process this when he was interrupted again.  

“Barba!” he heard his name from behind him and turned. 

“Jack, how are you? Nice turn out.” 

“I'd shake your hand but I see your double-fisting.” 

“Oh, sorry, she went to the restroom.” 

“Ah,” Jack said. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for coming. I saw Benson too somewhere. Also,” he put a hand on Barba’s arm, “good work on the D.C. case. I know that hit close to home for the squad but I heard good things about the way you handled it. Well done. EADA might not be far off.” 

“Well thank you sir, I appreciate that.” 

“Look, let me make my way around the room some more and I'll see you at dinner.” 

Rafael smiled and nodded and watched him walk off. This was going to be a long night. He hoped dinner was at least going to be worth it. Looking down, he'd forgotten which drink was his. He took a swig of the drink in his left hand. His taste buds rebelled, almost forcing him to spit the liquid out but he forced himself to swallow it. Peering into the fizzy drink he took a small sniff of it. Nothing. He took a small sip again. No taste? He took a swig from the drink in his right hand. Champagne. Something wasn't right. He took one more sip from Charlotte's glass again. Seltzer water? But why? She wasn't driving. Every time they went out she got a drink. Why wouldn't she be… 

The blood drained from his face.  

He almost lost his balance where he stood.  

Hearing laughter he turned around to see Olivia and Charlotte returning.  

His eyes landed on hers and he locked them, standing completely still.  

“I'm feeling alright. Splashed some water on my face. Must have been the drink,” she said with a smile. Barba didn't dare smile back. “Rafael?” 

“Olivia,” Barba said darkly without taking his eyes off of Charlotte, “could you excuse us for a moment?” 

The look on his face frightened even Benson.  

“Of course,” she said, flashing a smile and patting Charlotte on the arm. Once gone, Charlotte frowned with concern.  

“What's with you?” 

He slowly held up her glass.  

“What's this?” 

Charlotte shrugged. 

“My drink? So?” 

“No,” Rafael said, his voice low, his heart almost stopping, “this isn't champagne.” 

Charlotte brought her hands together in front of her, interlocking and unlocking her fingers.  

“Okay? What's your point?” she asked, pretending to be angry with him.  

“Why aren't you drinking, Charlotte?” 

“Don't question me like I'm a suspect! So I don't feel like drinking! Is that a crime?” 

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. 

“Then why would you tell me it's champagne? Why hide it?” 

“It's not a big deal. I just…” 

“Charlotte…” his eyes were wide with fear. He watched her face go as white as the linen napkins. Her lips went dry while her hands grew sweaty.  

“Rafael, please,” 

He closed his eyes again for a moment, taking a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak but pausing. His eyes fluttered open to find hers filling slowly with water. His voice was low and controlled, but there was a slight tremor behind it.  

“Charlotte, why aren't you drinking?” 

She wanted to look down but she kept looking right at him, hoping they would disappear and reappear somewhere else, somewhere safe. She looked around her at the crowd, the music, the cocktails. And back at Rafael who was about to die if she didn't answer him. 

“I…” Words failed her. Here they were: an ADA and AUSA from Harvard and Yale and they couldn't find words for each other. She looked left and right again and took a step towards him, leaning in. “Maybe we should talk now...” 


End file.
